UC-NRLF 


SB 


Ii  I 

NO..... 


Y 


HARMONIES  OF  CREATION, 


THE    MUSIC    OF   THE  MORNING   STARS. 

TO    WHICH    ARE    ADDED, 

MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS, 

ON 

RELIGIOUS,     MORAL,     AND     PATRIOTIC     SUBJECTS. 
AN    ORIGIN  AJ.    WORK. 


Hold  my  right  hand,  Almighty,  and  me  teach 

To  strike  the  lyre,  but  si-ldum  struck,  to  n.> 

Harmonious  with  the  Morning  Stare,  and  pure 

As  those  by  sainted  bards  and  angels  sung, 

Which  wake  the  echoes  of  eternity; 

That  fools  may  hear  and  tremble,  and  the  wise, 

Instructed,  listen.  Pollok's  Course  of  Time. 

Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth— when 
the  Morning  Stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted 
for  joy.— Job  xxxviii,  4-7. 


BY  JOHN  C.  NEWMAN,  TUTOR. 
Member  of  the  Theological  Society,  Professor  of  Penmanship,  &c. 


BALTIMORE: 

W.     WOODS,     PRINTER. 

1836. 


CONTENTS. 


page 

Preface,          ........  9 

Address  to  the  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  Baltimore,  13 

The  Music  of  the  Morning  Stars,         ...  17 

A  Righteous  Character  Displayed,          ...  39 

The  Voice  of  Nature, 50 

The  Memorial  of  the  Just, 51 

Chance  Blind;  or,  God  the  Sole  Director  of  the  Af- 
fairs of  this  World, 56 

The  Spread  of  the  Gospel,      .        .        .        .     *   .  60 

Lines,  incribed  to  the  memory  of  Otho  Sheetz,  .  62 

The  Hanging  Rocks, 65 

The  Place  of  the  Soul, 66 

Definition  of  the  Soul, 67 

Address  to  the  Sun,  Paraphrased  from  Ossian,    .  69 

Swiftness  of  Time,  and  Certainty  of  Death,  .         .  71 

For  the  4th  day  of  July,  1835,     '.  73 

Stanzas,  to  Uncle  Joe, 74 

Stanzas,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Miss  A.  B.      .  75 
Stanzas,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Reverend  John 

Emory,  D.  D 76 

The  Rich  Man  and  the  Poor  Man  Contrasted,     .  78 

Death  Makes  no  Distinction,  .....  80 

Reasons  why  I  hate  the  Drum  and  Fife,      .         .  81 

Epitaph  on  a  Weaver,     ......  82 

Judgment, 83 

Go— Read  the  Bible 84 

On  a  Young  Man  dress'd  in  Women's  Clothes,  .  86 

Thoughts  Suggested  on  the  Fall  of  the  Leaves,      .  87 
"Lorn,  if  it  be  Thee,  bid  me  come  to  Thee  on  the 

Water!" 89 


VI  CONTENTS. 

page 

A  Present  Prospect  of  Future  Bliss,   ...  90 
Redemption,   .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .91 

Heaven  Permanent,  an  Echo  to  Moore's  Heaven,  92 
Welcome  to  Mr.  D.  A*******g's  family  into  this 

Country  from  Ireland,  ....  94 
Dedication  of  the  M.E.  Church,  in  s****g****d, 

H.  C.  Va .  .  97 

The  melancholy  State  of  a  Backslider  Described,  .  97 

Time, •  100 

The  Judgment, .101 

An  Epistle  to  M.  J.  P 102 

The  Shortness  of  Human  Life,  .  .  ,  .105 

Stanzas,  on  the  departure  of  Mrs.  M'C*y,  .  107 

Christmas, 108 

Lines, 109 

Lines,  on  Mr.  Stark,       .        .        .         .        .        .110 

The  Superior  Excellence  of  the  Bible,  .  .  Ill 

Lines, .  .112 

Epitaph  on  a  Blacksmith,  .  .  .  .  113 

Lines, 114 

To  General  A.  Jackson, 115 

To  C.  M.  Th**re,  .;....  116 

A  Tragical  Tale, 118 

Lines, 124 

On  Age, 125 

The  Christian's  Rejoicing, 126 

A  Fable— the  Rat  and  the  Mouse,  .  .  .  127 

Lines, 130 

To  a  Newly  Married  Pair, 132 

For  the  Day  of  Thanksgiving,  Ap.  13,  1815,  .  133 

Epitaph,  on  a  man  named  Little,  .  .  .  134 

Works  of  Genius,  New  Inventions,  Patents,  &c.  .  135 

Lines, 140 

The  Changeable  Nature  of  all  Things  Below,         .  142 

Lines,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Benj.  W.  Beeler,  144 

Lines,  on  the  death  of  Rich'd  Parrin  Randal,          .  145 

Lines,  on  the  unexpected  death  of  E.  G.  B.        .  146 

Bishop  Emory's  Death,  ......  147 

Epitaph  on  a  Drunkard,       .....  148 

To  the  Right  Hon.  Henry  Clay,     ....  149 

Stanzas,  occasioned  by  the  death  of  Mr.  J.  K.  .  t'6. 


CONTENTS.  vii 
page 

Epitaph  on  a  Great  Talker,         ....  150 

Farewell— to  the  Rev.  W.  H*nk,  ....  151 

Epitaph,  on  Miss  A.  Dove,          .        .        .        .  152 

Stanzas,  written  on  the  fall  of  general  Ross,  .        .  153 

Epitaph  on  a  Noted  Liar,    .....  155 

Leader  of  Joseph, 156 

Invocation  to  Religion, 158 

Good  Friday,  1835, ib. 

This  World  a  Dreary  Wilderness,       ...  159 
Praise  for  Past  Blessings  and  Rejoicing  with  trem- 
bling,      160 

None  but  One  Friend, 161 

Tekel, 162 

The  Crucifixion,  Resurrection,  Ascension,  &c.  .  163 

Definition  of  Time,         .                ....  166 

Epitaph  on  a  Tailor, 167 

Lines,  to  the  memory  of  G.  M.  De  La  Fayette,  168 

Lines,  on  the  Conversion  of  the  Indians,        .        .  169 

Job's  Birth-day, 170 

Stanzas,  on  the  Death  of  Mrs.  Jane  Foster,   .         .171 

Address  to  Americans, 172 

A  Just  Thought,  and  a  Solemn  One,      .  ^     .         .  174 

A  very  Tougn  Case,  .         .         .         .                 .  175 

The  Drunken  Husband, 177 

The  Sleigh  Ride, 179 

The  Tutor  in  a  Pet, 180 

Lines,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Dr.  John  Briscoe,  182 

Hie  Jacet — (Here  he  lies.)     .....  183 

Epitaph — on  a  Bad  Man,    .....  ib. 

The  Eternity  of  God, 184 

An  Elegiac  Eulogiuin 187 

Epitaph, 190 

Breathing  for  Immortality,           ....  191 

Battle  Ground, 192 

A  Sketch  of  Natural  Scenery,    ....  194 

Lines,  written  September,  1814,     .         .         .         .  197 

Psalm  xviii — From  3d  to  27th  v.  inclusive,         .  199 

Epitaph  for  E.  A.  C 202 

Not  Fond  of  Professional  Gentlemen,          .  .       .  203 

Love  to  God  Unspeakable, ib. 

Epitaph  on  a  Libertine, 204 


VU1  CONTENTS, 

page 

Psalm  i.          ........  205 

What  is  Man  made  for? 206 

The  47th  Psalm, 207 

There  is  a  Day, 203 

The  Spirit— Job  iv.  13-21 209 

Lines — inscribed  to  Miss  S.  B 210 

Epitaph  for  W.  S. — aged  two  years,  .         .        .  ib. 
The  presence  of  God  Desirable,     .         .         .         .211 

Aspiring  after  God,     .         .         .        .         .         .  212 

Woman, 213 

Case  of  an  Awakened  Sinner,     ....  ib. 

Obligations  of  Man  superior  to  those  of  Angels,    .  214 

Disappointment — A  Rustic  Tale,        .         .        .  215 

Friendship, .  219 

Love, ib. 

The  March  of  Mind, 220 

The  Holy  City, 221 

The  Pot- Valiant  Atheist,        .        .         .        •         .224 

A  Serious  Thought, 226 

The  Existence  of  God, 227 

Burning  of  the  M.  E.  Book  Concern,          .        .  228 

The  Last  Day, 230 

Stanzas,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  C.  E.  M'Neill,  234 

Reflections  on  the  death  of  Geo.  W.  Shutt,     .         .  236 

The  Sabbath, .  239 

First  Day  of  the  Week, 240 

Liberty, 241 

All  Hail  to  Columbia, 246 

Lines,  composed  at  the  request  of  a  little  girl,     .  248 

Levis — a  Real  Character, 249 

Stanzas,  written  on  Gen.  A.  Jackson's  victory  over 

the  British  at  New  Orleans,      .         .        .  252 
The  Old  Man's  Marriage,  and  his  Wife  cured  of 

Scolding,       .                254 


PREFACE. 


BOOKS  have  been  multiplied  on  every  side,  and  there 
are  many  on  different  subjects;  but  the  number  of  original 
American  productions  is,  indeed,  exceedingly  few.  Poeti- 
cal performances,  especially  those  of  a  religious  nature, 
are  still  more  scarce.  Whether  a  publication  strictly  re- 
ligious, in  the  main,  will  meet  with  the  approbation  and 
acceptance  of  an  enlightened  and  liberal  people,  is  now 
to  be  determined.  The  object  of  the  author  is,  the  dis- 
semination of  religious  truth  and  the  amelioration  of  the 
heart.  He  has  not  the  vanity  to  suppose  that  his  produc- 
tions are  equal  to  our  standard  poets,  who  have  had  both 
time  and  leisure  to  give  ornament  to  their  style,  and  to 
embellish  their  stanzas  with  all  the  tinsel  of  the  most 
glittering  periods;  yet,  he  is  not  ashamed  to  avow  that 
some  of  his  flights  would  not  disgrace  the  best  of  them. 
He  makes  this  assertion  with  the  more  freedom  and 
the  less  temerity,  as  he  has  predicated  his  opinion  on  the 
judgment  of  gentlemen  whose  minds  he  deems  superior 
to  his  own.  Though  his  advantages  have  not  been  equal 
to  some  of  those  who  have  preceded  him,  yet  his  stanzas 
do  not  sink  much  below  them.  The  reader  will  perceive 
that  he  has  taken  some  pains,  not  to  adorn  his  numbers 
with  the  tropes  and  figures  of  rhetoric,  but  to  make  his 
verses  flow  smoothly  and  freely,  without  stiffness  on  the 
2 


x  PREFACE. 

one  hand,  and  fustian  on  the  other.  He  is  of  the  opinion 
that  he  might  interweave  a  number  of  those  hackneyed 
and  almost  worn-out  epithets — Meek-eyed  Love — Dove- 
eyed  Peace — Pale-eyed  Envy — Leaden-eyed  Slumber — • 
Iron-toothed  Time,  $c.  fyc. — and  yet,  like  a  certain  Euro- 
pean Bard,  of  the  present  day,  produce  a — glittering 
nothing!  The  author  seeks  not  to  dazzle  the  eye,  but  to 
lead  the  mind  to  the  Fountain  of  all  Goodness,  where  he 
may  slake  his  thirst,  and  satisfy  his  immortal  spirit  with 
streams  that  never  fail;  and  where 

"Salvation  in  abundance  flows, 
Like  floods  of  milk  and  wine." 

He  must  be  candid  enough,  and  he  is  not  ashamed  to  con- 
fess, that  religious  effusions  alone,  are  the  most  congenial 
to  his  heart;  and  of  these  he  has  in  possession,  perhaps, 
more  than  a  thousand  essays.  In  these  pages  he  wishes 
not  to  introduce  one  single  line  which,  in  the  day  of  God, 
he  would  had  been  expunged.  His  piece,  entitled,  "The 
Harmonies  of  Creation;  or,  The  Music  of  the  Morning 
Stars,"  was  suggested  to  his  mind  by  a  recurrence  to 
Job,  xxxviii,  4 — 7;  and  he  sincerely  regrets  that  he  can- 
not, such  is  his  scarcity  of  time,  take  that  pains  which 
he  ought,  to  give  it  a  more  substantial  and  elegant  form; 
by  retrenching  what  is  rather  lame,  and  adding  some 
original  ideas,  which  would  make  it  appear  to  greater 
advantage.  Every  syllable  and  every  line,  so  far  as  the 
author  knows,  are  purely  original — the  plan — the  lan- 
guage— the  form,  and  the  ideas;  nor  has  he  resorted  to 
fiction,  any  further  than  it  might  serve  his  convenience, 
for  laying  the  foundation  of  the  poem. 

He  hopes  that  in  a  future  edition,  should  there  ever  be 
a  call  for  it,  that  it  will  appear  in  a  more  respectable 
dress.  The  piece  "On  the  Crucifixion,*'  &c.  is  entirely 


PREFACE.  Xi 

new  to  the  author.  It  has  been  suggested  that  he  had 
borrowed  from  Montgomery,  whom  he  had  never  read! 
He  has,  however,  since  obtained  Montgomery's  poems, 
and  examined  the  performance  to  which  allusion  has 
been  made,  and  is  happy  to  find  there  is  a  small  degree 
of  similarity  between  the  two  performances,  yet  there  is 
not  the  least  trace  of  plagiarism  in  the  author's  essay; 
besides,  the  plan  and  the  language  are  decidedly  his  own; 
but  Mr.  Montgomery  freely  acknowledges  that  he  has 
borrowed  his  plan,  as  he  ha*  headed  it  with — "Imitated 
from  the  Italian  of  Crescembini."  The  author  cannot, 
however,  but  feel  thankful  that  his  composition  ranks  so 
highly  as  to  be  thought  on  an  equality  with  one  of  Mont- 
gomery's best  performances — a  man  whom  the  splendid 
but  unhappy  Byron  pronounces  to  be  "a  man  of  talents." 
"The  Definition  of  the  Soul"— "The  Voice  of  Nature," 
and  other  pieces,  will  speak  for  themselves.  "Chance 
Blind — or,  God  the  sole  Director  of  the  affairs  of  this 
world,"  is  said  not  to  be  a  lame  production.  It  was 
originally  published  as  "a  challenge  to  any  clergyman  or 
any  other  gentleman,"  fyc.  4*c.  But  the  reader  will  ex- 
amine for  himself.  He  will  discover,  in  the  perusal  of 
these  sheets,  that  the  author  of  the  following  poems  is 
fond  of  ruminating  on  the  lives  and  deaths  of  the  de- 
ceased; but  hopes  the  variety  of  sentiment  introduced 
will  relieve  the  mind  from  a  continual  sameness.  On 
the  whole,  while  he  preserves  his  pages  from  that 
monotony  which  would  be  disgusting  as  it  is  tiresome, 
he  would  observe  that  the  whole  of  his  poems  have  been 
written  on  "the  spur  of  the  moment;"  nor  has  he  ever 
had  leisure  sufficient  to  revise  one  of  them,  unless  it  may 
be  in  a  line,  or  a  word,  here  and  there.  He  therefore 


Xli  PREFACE. 

begs  the  indulgence  of  the  liberal  minded  and  the  man  oi 
science.  From  those  who  are  displeased  "they  know 
not  why,  and  care  not  wherefore,"  he  asks  no  favors, 
and  he  craves  no  smiles;  as  he  is  sure,  with  gentlemen 
of  such  a  mould,  there  is  not  much  honorable  dealing! 
Whether  they  are  dubbed  "daily,  monthly,  or  annual" 
visiters,  from  them  he  has  long  since  turned  with  dis- 
gust. The  author  would  not  presume  to  say  with  the 
inimitable  Byron,  (whose  poetical  works  have,  a  day  or 
two  since,  fallen  into  his  hands,) 

"  'Tis  pleasant,  sure,  to  see  one's  self  in  print, 
A  book's  a  book,  although  there's  nothing  in't!" 

For  he  has  seen  himself  in  that  garb,  until  it  has  ceased 
to  excite  one  pleasurable  sentiment,  unless  the  elegance 
of  the  type,  and  the  neatness  of  the  letters  and  the  bind- 
ing, should  call  for  his  admiration.  For  the  respectable 
patronage  the  author  has  already  received,  he  feels  him- 
self unable  to  express  his  gratitude;  and  hopes  that  his 
patrons'  reasonable  expectations  will  not  be  disappointed; 
but  to  those  illiberal  and  cynical  souls,  who  have  given 
themselves  no  concern,  but  to  predict  the  matter  that 
will  form  the  author's  pages,  he  makes  no  other  reply, 

than 

"Odi  profanum  vulgus.* 

With  these  remarks,  the  work  is  submitted  to  the  author's 
numerous  patrons,  and  to  the  world.  The  book,  like  its 
author,  must  take  its  chance — die  or  live! 

THE  AUTHOR. 

*I  hate  the  profane  vulgar, 


ADDRESS 


TO  THE 

LADIES   AND   GENTLEMEN  OF  BALTIMORE. 


"F  had  a  dream,  it  wa«  not  all  a  dream," 
As  I  came  here  the  Car  ran  out  of  steam; 
80  then  the  great  machine  was  forced  to  stop, 
Until  we  got  the  Steaming  Tower  up!!! 

But  this  little  circumstance  (however  trivial  it  may 
appear  to  others)  of  the  steam  running  out,  on  the  road 
between  Winchester  and  Charlestown,  in  Virginia,  has 
been  of  some  use  to  me  ever  since;  and,  I  hope  it  may 
nave  a  salutary  influence  in  directing  my  conduct  through 
ftiture  life:  for  whenever  I  see  an  aspiring,  intriguing, 
and  time-serving  gentleman,  who  is  willing  to  serve  every 
body,  and  to  do  any  thing,  provided  he  may,  by  such 
means,  serve  himself;  and,  when  1  see  this  same  great 
man  sacrificing  his  honor  and  dignity,  so  that  he  may 
keep  t>n  the  popular  side  of  the  question;  or,  in  other 
words,  when  I  see  him  standing  on  the  fence,  so  that  he 
may  see  on  which  side  he  may  most  safely  take  the  leap, 
I  exclaim  within  myself — Poor  man!  I  fear  you  mill, 
eventually,  run  out  of  stewn! 
2* 


XIV  ADDRESS. 

Whenever  I  hear  a  politician  boasting  of  what  he  has 
achieved,  and  flattering  the  people  with  what  he  intends 
to  do,  to  render  his  supporters  happy  as  individuals,  and 
respectable  as  a  community,  by  the  grant  of  certain  im- 
munities, I  am  sure  to  say  to  myself — "Quick  promisers 
are  generally  very  slow  performers" — Poor  man,  you  will 
surely  run  out  of  steam! 

Whenever  I  see  a  young  man,  who  buys  a  great  variety 
of  articles  on  credit,  and  then  immediately  marries  some 
waiting  fair  one,  before  he  has  liquidated  the  claims  of 
either  the  merchant,  the  cabinet-maker,  or  the  tailor,  I 
say — It  is  ten  to  one,  poor  young  man!  if  you  and  your  fair 
one  both  do  not  see  trouble— for  you  will  run  out  of  steam! 

Whenever  I  see  a  man,  who  professes  religion,  but 
whether  he  is  young  or  old,  has  something  to  say  about 
every  body's  business,  while  he  does  not  mind  his  own, 
j  Say — Ah,  poor  man!  your  meanness  will  be  detected,  and 
your  criminality  exposed — you  will  certainly  run  out  of 
steam! 

Whenever  I  see  either  a  superior,  or  inferior,  who 
claims  the  pre-eminence  of  his  brethren,  and  who  seems 
to  say — The  ark  of  the  Lord  will  not  move  forward,  un- 
less /  have  the  whole  management  of  the  concern,  I  am 
apt  to  exclaim — jih,  poor  Jehu!  the  chariot  of  the  Lord 
will  move  on  gloriously  when  you  are  dead  and  gone —  Take 
care  you  do  not  run  out  of  steam! 

Whenever  I  see  a  man,  who  sets  himself  up  as  an 
author,  and  is  about  to  publish  a  volume  of  poems,  with- 
out the  means  to  enable  him,  unless  he  should  meet  with 
many  friends,  I  most  passionately  exclaim — Poor,  honest, 
simple-hearted  soul!  you  have  already  put  yourself  to  a 


ADDRES3.  XV 

great  deal  of  trouble ,-  but  you  may  have  much  more; — take 
care,  take  great  care,  you  do  not  run  out  of  steam!!! 

The  author  has  been  led  to  this  last  reflection,  from  the 
consideration  that  he  is  about  to  publish  a  volume  of 
original  poems,  himself;  and  as  he  would  deprecate  even 
the  very  idea  of  his  running  out  of  steam,  as  an  event 
that  would  do  him  an  almost  incalculable  mischief,  (see- 
ing he  has  lost  so  much  time  already,)  he  begs  the  good 
people  of  Baltimore  to  aid  him  in  his  arduous  undertak- 
ing! He  has  already  received  a  pretty  respectable  pa- 
tronage in  several  counties,  (among  whom  are  gentle- 
men and  ladies  of  a  highly  literary  character,)  but  their 
patronage  alone  seems  not  to  be  sufficient;  and,  he  is  led 
to  hope,  from  the  known  liberality  and  generosity  of  the 
Baltimoreans,  with  their  disposition  to  encourage  works 
of  genius,  truly  American,  that  they  will  not  be  behind 
other  truly  polite  and  refined  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in 
other  places,  who  have  been  so  good  as  to  favor  him  with 
their  aid. 

He  is  the  more  emboldened  in  thus  publicly  soliciting 
the  patronage  of  the  citizens  of  Baltimore,  as,  he  can 
assure  them,  that  many  of  his  performances  are  said  to 
possess  the  most  substantial  merit;  besides,  the  author 
would  remind  them,  that  he  served  two  successive  cam- 
paigns in  the  last  war,  in  one  of  which  he  volunteered 
his  services  (for  he  might  have  staid  at  home)  in  the 
year  1814,  to  defend  the  city,  its  inhabitants,  and  their 
property,  their  sons  and  their  daughters,  from  the  vio- 
lence and  insults  of  the  British  soldiery.  As  "one  good 
turn  deserves  another,"  he  hopes  the  gentlemen  of  that 
place — for  he  feels  confident  the  ladies  of  Baltimore  will 
not — forget  him  in  his  old  age,  nor  forsake  him  when  he 


needs  their  help.  He  remembered  them  in  the  crisis  of 
alarm,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  and  not  only  gave  up  his 
domestic  comforts  for  the  fatigues  of  an  autumn  and 
winter  campaign,  but  felt  willing  even  to  pour  out  his 
blood,  that  their  sons  and  their  daughters  might,  under 
their  own  vine,  and  under  their  own  fig-tree,  without 
any  to  molest  them,  enjoy  the  sweets  of  future  repose, 
and  chant  their  beloved  country  in  all  its  rising  bright- 
ness, grandeur,  and  glory.  "A  word  to  the  wise  is  suf- 
ficient." 

JOHN  C.  NEWMAN. 
May  28th,  1836. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  MORNING   STARS, 

THE     ORIGIN     OF     THE     MUSE; 
OR, 

A    THEME    FOR    POETS. 


Stars  of  morning,  (august  throng!) 

Grand  precentors  of  true  song, 

At  th'  Almighty's  potent  call, 

Sang,  and  lo,  arose  this  ball!—  -tfuMor'*  Fugitive  Essay*. 


LET  Dryden  sing  the  days  of  heathen  lore, 

And  Pope  extol  the  men  and  times  of  yore, 

Lavish  encomiums  on  each  Grecian  sage, 

And  eulogize  the  Romans  of  their  age; 

Yet,  I  sing  not  their  mythologic  stuff, 

The  Book  of  God  will  furnish  themes  enough; 

And  imagery  that  Homer  cannot  yield, 

Though  all  his  legions  gather  on  the  field; 

Or  let  the  smooth-strained  Virgil  tune  his  reed, 

With  Tityrus  beneath  a  beech  wide-spread, 

Of  Amaryllis  burnt  with  strange  desire 

To  gratify  a  bestial,  lawless  fire; 

Such  wanton  themes  shall  not  my  page  disgrace, 

Nor  would  I  give  to  vice  an  angel's  face. 


18  MUSIC    OF    THE   MORNING   STARS. 

But  where  then  find  a  hero  for  my  theme? 
The  highest  flights  of  Homer  are  a  dream; 
And  Virgil  with  his  beauties  too  must  yield, 
Whene'er  the  ancient  Muse  comes  on  the  field. 
Their  heathen  strains  are  fables — airy  thought, 
Formed  in  the  brain — from  stories  half  forgot: 
But  if  we  wish  to  find  the  Muse  sublime, 
We  must  retreat  to  the  first  march  of  time: 
'Tis  in  God's  holy  book  th'  account  is  found, 
Ere  yet  were  formed  the  skies,  or  solid  ground; 
Before  Jehovah's  arm  had  launched  the  spheres, 
Or  time  was  measured  by  days,  months,  and  years. 
The  fabled  Nine  no  longer  I  invoke; 
Their  visionary  aid  oft  ends  in  smoke, 
As  long  projecting  chemists'  projects  do, 
As  false,  as  helpless,  and  deceitful  too. 

Descend,  eternal  Spirit,  and  inspire 
My  growing  numbers  with  primeval  fire, 
With  fire  that  in  the  ancient  prophet  glow'd; 
When  from  the  altar  of  the  eternal  God, 
The  seraph  touch'd  his  tongue  with  living  coal, 
And  roused  the  powers  of  his  inmost  soul. 
Teach  me  to  sing  the  origin  of  rhyme, 
And  aid  my  pulse  to  beat  its  sacred  time; 
And  while  I  tread  a  path  untrod  before, 
Refine  my  song,  and  bid  my  spirit  soar! 

When  first  the  Morning  Stars  conceiv'd  the  plan, 
That  God  had  form'd  to  make  his  creature— man, 
They  bursted  forth  in  strains  of  holy  song, 
For  'tis  to  them  sublimest  themes  belong; 
And  thus  proceeded  this  grand  symphony, 
By  the  sublime  precentors  of  the  sky: 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS.  19 

"Supreme,  eternal,  self-existent  King! 

We  need  thine  aid  thy  attributes  to  sing: 

When  we  look  back  'tis  but  as  yesterday, 

When  essences  unorb'd  in  Thee  we  lay; 

Thy  goodness  gave  us  being,  to  proclaim 

The  uncreated  glory  of  Thy  name. 

The  first-born  sons  of  light  thy  being  view, 

Augustly  grand,  and  all -mysterious  too; 

Thy  nature  is  unfathomably  bright; — 

Archangels  are  confounded  by  its  light; 

They  veil  their  faces  as  they  sing  thy  plan, 

So  fraught  with  love  to  yet  unconscious  man. 

Hail,  holy,  holy,  holy,  Triune  Lord, 

By  all  seraphic  grades  on  high  ador'd; 

The  highest  sons  thou  hast,  thy  goodness  share; 

And  we,  the  first,  are  thy  peculiar  care, 

With  gratitude  o'erwhelmed  our  state  we  view, 

For  though  full  well  the  foul  revolt  we  knew, 

Of  Lucifer  and  his  unhappy  host, 

In  Thee  we  stand,  our  fortress  and  our  boast: 

No  sad  defections  mar  thine  angel-throng, 

And  thou  art,  Lord,  the  burden  of  their  song. 

Through  all  our  various  orders,  Lord,  we  stand 

A  brilliant  host,  a  shining,  deathless  band. 

Thy  glory  fills  our  oibs, — it  is  from  Thee, 

That  we  receive  our  whole  felicity; 

Nor  shall  we,  as  the  fiend,  Thy  light  implore, 

That  now  returns  to  his  sad  bands  no  moie; — 

A  dread  example  of  thy  vengeful  ire, 

Cast  on  a  shoreless  sea  of  curling  fire: 

Nay,  Lord — we  onward  move  from  height  to  height 

Of  glory — yet  insufferably  bright; 


20  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS. 

But  as  we  move,  thou  givest  pow'r  to  gaze 

On  Thy  o'erpowering  and  exhaustless  rays. 

Grade  upon  grade,  as  we  in  order  rise, 

To  us,  thy  Morning  Stars  that  deck  Thy  skies; 

Link  upon  link,  in  grand  succession  join'd, 

The  purest  seraph  leaving  far  behind; 

Up  to  Thy  throne,  beyond  those  higher  poles, 

Where  boundless,  uncreated  glory  rolls, 

Thy  pure  intelligences  sing  Thy  praise, 

And  magnify  Thy  works  and  hud  Thy  ways: 

Each  in  their  spheres  to  Thee  unceasing  cry — 

Hail,  HOLY,  HOLY,  HOLY  Lord  Most  High! 

And  we,  our  dazzling  crowns  to  Thee  submit, 

And  thrill'd  with  rapt'rous  awe,  fall  at  Thy  feet.-! 

The  heav'nly  hosts  all  joined  the  melody, 

And  chanted  the  designs  of  Deity; 

So  far  as  He  those  grand  designs  made  known, 

To  those  adoring  throngs  before  His  throne; 

While  loud  and  louder  still  their  numbers  swell, 

And  almost  charm'd  the  dark  abodes  of  hell. 

Those  regions  border  on  eternal  night, 

And  are  depriv'd  of  every  ray  of  light: 

There  spectres  howl,  and  angry  demons  roar — 

A  bottomless  abyss  without  a  shore. 

Broad  streams  of  vivid  lightnings  nimbly  play 

Athwart  the  gloom,  from  the  confines  of  day; 

While  raging  tempests  beat  beneath  the  sky, 

On  rebel  angels  destin'd  ne'er  to  die: 

This  is  the  place  that  was  ordained  of  old, 

For  him,  the  first  of  sinners,  we  are  told. 

Prompted  by  pride  he  led  his  armies  forth, 

Resolved  to  take  possession  of  the  North; 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS.  21 

"Its  sides,  henceforth,  myself  will  occupy, 

For  I  will  equal  be  to  the  Most  High." 

Unhappy  spirits  had  but  formed  their  plan, 

When  from  th'  Eternal  Sire  fierce  lightnings  ran, 

And  all  the  rebel  hosts  were  downward  hurl'd, 

By  flaming  vengeance  to  this  nether  world: 

Hence  Satan's  called  the  power  of  the  air, 

And,  as  its  prince,  he  raises  tempests  there; 

But  God  himself  presides  in  every  storm, 

And  he  directs  it  in  its  fiercest  form. 

Th'  unhappy  spirit  would,  but  cannot  reign, 

For  the  Almighty  binds  him  with  a  chain; 

"Thus  far  go  thou!  no  farther  may'st  thou  go; 

I  am  thy  God — and  I  restrain  thy  blow." 

Now  Satan  heard  the  harmonies  above, 

In  notes  symphonious  through  the  expanse  move, 

Apollyon  he  deputed  to  inquire 

What  theme  the  Morning  Stars  could  so  inspire. 

He  listened; — thus  the  heavenly  concert  ran: 

"Divine  benevolence  will  form  a  man. 

Possess'd  of  pow'r  that  he  may  stand  alone, 

And  heir  the  scenes  of  Eden  as  his  own; 

A  child,  like  us,  of  Immortality, 

As  all  his  vast  posterity  shall  be." 

Old  Chaos  heard  the  soul-enchanting  sound — 

The  dark  and  formless  mass  became  good  ground; 

Each  atom  join'd  its  parts,  and  order  rose, 

With  every  living  shrub,  or  tree  that  grows; 

Now  spring  to  view  the  verdant  lawns  and  groves, 

And  every  object  that  the  poet  loves; 

The  babbling  stream  that  ripples  through  the  glade, 

A  cheerful  green  on  either  hand  display 'd; 


22  MUSIC    OF    THE   MORNING   STARS. 

The  aromatic  herbs  and  scented  plains, 

Where  beauty  in  a  wild  profusion  reigns; 

The  cloud-capp'd  mountain  and  the  humbler  hill, 

Enliven'd  by  the  sound  of  "whip-poor-will;" 

With  plants  indigenous  to  every  clime, 

And  birds  whose  notes  with  morning  seem  to  chime: 

Those  feather'd  songsters  tune  their  warbling  notes, 

While  through  the  balmy  air  the  music  floats. 

The  tow'ring  eagle  and  the  grov'ling  beast, 

Stand  not  in  need  of  any  erring  priest, 

Nor  do  they  want  a  preacher  to  convey, 

The  meaning  of  their  consentaneous  lay; 

For  from  the  Mammoth  to  Leviathan, 

Which  first  were  under  the  control  of  man, 

Down  to  the  coiling  snake,  or  writhing  worm, 

All  praised  the  Lord,  each  in  its  cliif'rent  form. 

The  waters  too  arresteft  in  their  course, 

With  liquid  lapse  repair  to  one  great  source; 

For  ere  this  time  they  had  been  scatter'd  wide, 

Nor  did  a  channel  their  rude  streams  divide. 

The  lightnings  all  that  hurtle*  through  the  sky, 

And  carry  swift  destruction  as  they  fly, 

Were  harmless  then;  and  thunders  roll'd  the  base, 

That  fill'd  the  void  in  heaven's  unbounded  space. 

But  first  of  all,  from  the  dark  womb  of  Night, 

Sprang  the  celestial  creature,  God  call'd  Light; 

Duly  attemper'd  and  its  nature  fix'd, 

And  with  discordant  principles  unmix'd. 

But  while  the  Morning  Stars  protract  their  song, 

And  the  cherubic  hosts  the  theme  prolong, 


*  To  make   a  noise  like  the  rumbling  of  wheels.     See   Bailey's 
and  oilier  old  Lexicons. 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS.  23 

Those  blazing  comets  wonted  long  to  range,  («) 
Attracted  were  by  sounds  sublimely  strange, 
And  sweetly  drawn,  leap'd  in  their  orbs  again, 
To  join  the  chorus  of  the  heavenly  train. 
The  Sun  emerg'd  from  the  dark  mass  of  Night, 
And  beam'd  refulgent  with  full  rays  of  Light; 
The  Morning  blush'd  to  see  so  grand  a  scene, 
And  all  the  skies  shone  beauteous  and  serene. 
The  Moon  too  issued  from  her  gloomy  bed, 
And  with  a  paler  lustre  show'd  her  head: 
But  Night,  delighted  by  the  attractive  lay, 
Blew  up  her  latent  sparks  to  form  a  day; 
Hence,  after  twilight,  dirf'rent  forms  arise, 
And  shine  and  glitter  through  the  lofty  skies; 
But  still  when  Night  her  glory  has  unfurPd, 
A  solemn  silence  reigns  around  the  world; 
And  with  her  awful  splendor  still  she's  Night; 
Nor  can  she  vie  with  God's  first  creature — Light: 
Yet  are  her  efforts  much  to  be  admir'd; 
Her  scenes  a  Young  and  Milton  too  inspir'd; 
And  Addison,  with  a  syinphonious  tongue, 
In  strains  immortal  has  her  glories  sung. 
The  Moon,  astounded  at  displays  so  bright, 
Begg'd  from  the  Sun  some  rays  of  solar  light, 
That  she  might  shine  the  glooms  of  Night  away, 
And  add  her  share  of  glory  to  the  Day: 
So  Night  herself 's  indebted  to  the  Sun, 
For  nearly  half  the  grandeur  she  puts  on. 
To  grace  this  grand,  ineffable  display, 
Jehovah,  rising  on  the  Seventh  Day, 
Paused — for  a  moment — to  complete  his  plan, 
And  said,  to  finish  all, — "LET  us  MAKE  MAN;" 


24  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS. 

So  breath'd  in  fragile  clay  the  breath  of  lives; 

Hence,  after  death,  a  deathless  part  survives. 

Now,  the  Almighty,  taking  a  survey 

Of  Adam's  lonely,  but  exquisite  clay, 

Thought  it  not  good  for  man  alone  to  be, 

And  form'd  a  mate  for  his  society: 

The  lovely  one  was  taken  from  his  side, 

Clay  twice  refin'd — our  father's  future  bride;  j 

Th'  attractive  form  by  closest  ties  allied! 

Connected  not  by  interest  alone — 

Part  of  himself — a  near  and  useful  bone; 

Flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  blood  of  his  own  blood, 

United  in  the  firmest  bonds  they  stood. 

Though  liable  to  fall,  they  might  have  stood 

Against  satanic  wiles,  still  pure  and  good; 

But  they  abus'd  their  power  of  agency, 

As  in  the  sequel  .will  unfolded  be. 

Now  Satan  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres, 

And  soon  his  hatred  to  his  God  appears; 

For  while  the  Morning  Stars  together  sung, 

And  the  vast  concave  with  God's  praises  rung, 

Adam  was  lull'd — and  Eve  began  to  sing, 

Melodious  praises  to  the  Eternal  King; 

And  so  delightful  was  the  heavenly  song, 

Our  mother  sang  His  praises  all  day  long: 

But  Satan  envied  her  this  happiness, 

And  wish'd  to  make  her  great  enjoyments  less; 

To  thwart  the  counsels  of  the  Trinity, 

And  plunge  her  race  in  endless  misery. 

Somewhere  in  Eastern  climes  there  was  a  place, 

The  seat  of  favor  and  surprising  grace; 


MUSIC   OF    THE    MORNING   STARS. 

'Twas  Eden  called,  the  garden  of  the  Lord, 
With  all  delicious  fruits  and  viands  stored; 
But  in  the  midst  thereof  there  grew  a  tree, 
The  taste  of  which  brought  death  on  you  and  me! 
This  deathful  fruit,  man  was  forbidd'n  to  eat; 
But  Satan  told  our  mother  'twas  a  treat: 
"Eat  freely  then,  and  like  a  God  you'll  be, 
And  goodness  know  from  all  iniquity: 
Your  Maker  would  not  wish  you  to  be  wise, 
Lest,  as  himself,  you  claim  your  native  skies." 
Eve  stopp'd  her  song  to  listen  to  his  speech, 
And  put  herself  within  the  serpent's  reach; 
As  the  ill-fated  bird  that  sees  the  snare, 
But  does  not  dream  of  mischief  lurking  there: 
She  ate; — and  thus,  in  a  few  moments'  time, 
Convey'd  her  sorrows  to  each  age  and  clime; 
For  her  remotest  children  feel  the  pain, 
And  temp'ral  death  to  latest  time  shall  reign. 
Adam  was  not  deceived;  but  O,  he  fell! 
Success  attended  the  finesse  of  hell; 
For  ah!  his  eyes  were  opened,  and  he  found, 
That  now  he  walk'd  on  interdicted  ground. 
Creation's  harmonies  were  now  impair'd; 
And  O,  discordant  sounds  were  often  heard: 
The  Earth  in  frightful  chasms  open'd  wide, 
And  groan'd,  as  though  an  universe  had  died; 
While  JEtna  and  Vesuvius  belch'd  out  flame, 
And  deeply  testified  to  Adam's  shame. 
The  trembling  mountains  left  their  rugged  base, 
And  cragged  rocks  lift  a  projecting  face: 
The  ocean  too,  that  had  been  still  before, 
Rouses  his  billows  with  tremendous  roar/ 
3* 


25 


26  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS. 

And  awful  surges  on  his  rock-bound  side, 
Cast  back  their  echoes  to  the  swelling  tide. 
The  fearful  breakers  lift  their  whiten'd  wings, 
As  to  the  foaming  surf  the  white-cap  clings. 
The  winds  now  gather  rage,  and  roar,  and  sweep, 
In  dreadful  whirlwinds  o'er  the  briny  deep; 
While  loud  tornados  drive  along  the  plain, 
And  scour  the  land  and  yell  upon  the  main. 
The  order  of  the  Sun,  the  Moon,  the  Earth, 
Are  now  inverted  almost  from  their  birth; 
The  Moon,  at  times,  obscures  Sol's  golden  face, 
And  tarnishes  his  beams  in  mid-day  race: 
Earth  casts  his  shade  between  us  and  the  Moon, 
And  darkness  follows  each  strange  movement  soon; 
Thus  Sun  and  Moon  remind  us  of  the  Day, 
When  our  fore-parents  bartered  bliss  away; 
When  for  an  apple  they  their  birth-right  sold, 
As  many  now  who  barter  heav'n  for  gold. 
When  first  th'  Almighty  form'd  this  varied  globe, 
The  sun-beams  clothed  its  face  as  one  broad  lobe; 
But  so  deranged  is  Nature's  order  now, 
Astronomers  can  scarcely  tell  us  how, 
Or  where,  the  Sun  will  throw  his  golden  ray, 
For  here  'tis  night;  and  there  'tis  perfect  day. 
Here  we  are  fann'd  by  th'  odorif 'rous  breeze, 
While  there  the  sons  of  Nova  Zembla  freeze; 
And  for  six  months,  on  Greenland's  icy  plains, 
The  brumal  monarch  in  stern  horror  reigns. 
The  earth  is  cut  in  four  unequal  parts, 
Which  comfort,  burn,  or  freeze  ten  thousand  hearts. 
In  Afric's  burning  soil,  the  darken'd  race, 
Are  alter'd  in  complexion,  form,  and  face; 


MUSIC    OF    THE   MORNING  STARS.  2? 

So  that  some  men  of  letters  would  contend, 
That  heav'n  had  forin'd  them  for  the  basest  end; 
That  they  possess'd  not  father  Adam's  blood, 
But  as  the  link  'twixt  man  and  monkey  stood; 
Or  that,  at  best,  those  of  the  torrid  zone, 
Were  of  a  diff'rent  stamp,  and  stood  alone; 
But  facts  refute  this  base-spun  theory. 
And  show  that  they  have  souls  as  well  as  we. 

But  to  return: — The  subject  to  pursue — 
How  sad  inverted  Nature  now  to  view! 
Heat  in  the  Torrid  reigns,  the  most  intense. 
Cold  in  the  Frigid,  which  benumbs  the  sense; 
But  ere  offending  man  transgress'd  God's  law, 
This  Earth  was  blest  as  that  which  Adam  saw! 
Ere  Adam's  fall  there  were  no  floods  of  rain; 
A  gentle  mist  then  fertilized  the  plain; 
And  every  part  of  earth  did  then  produce 
A  growth  spontaneous,  for  our  parent's  use.  ' 
Now  bursting  clouds  spout  cataracts  of  rain, 
And  sweep  off  trees,  and  grass,  and  soil,  and  grain; 
While  corn  and  rye,  design'd  for  common  use, 
Are  fill'd  with  an  inebriating  juice:     (b) 
By  which  Earth's  later  sons,  for  sake  of  gain, 
Have  drench'd  the  lands  and  their  ten  thousands  slain! 
Hence  near  some  sought-out  spring,  or  gentle  rill, 
We  see  that  copper  monster,  termed — A  STILL!  (c) 
Where  pints,  and  quarts,  and  gallons  too,  are  sold, 
To  poison  men  for  paltry  bits  of  gold. 

The  lightnings  too,  against  the  earth  conspire, 
And  clouds,  with  hideous  cracks,  discharge  their  fire; 
While  borne  before  the  all -prostrating  storm, 
Their  floating  drapery  takes  a  fearful  form. 


28  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS. 

In  short,  the  elements,  and  death,  and  hell, 
Now  fret,  and  roar,  and  rage,  and  war,  and  swell; 
Break  their  establish'd  bounds,  and  deal  out  pain, 
And  speak  aloud — "God  is  displeased  with  Man!" 
The  lion  and  the  leopard,  now  imbued 
With  a  ferocious  nature,  seek  for  blood; 
And  birds  and  beasts  upon  each  other  prey, 
While  all  appear  intent  to  harm  or  slay. 
But  most  of  all,  man  suffers  by  his  crime, 
And  murders  take  a  stand  in  early  time; 
For  Adam's  first-born  son  his  brother  slew, 
And  crafty  wretches  multiplied  and  grew. 
The  Earth  a  seat  of  violence  became, 
And,  Sodom-like,  they  gloried  in  their  shame; 
Until  Jehovah,  vex'd  at  deeds  so  base, 
Resolv'd  to  extirpate  the  human  race. 
But  Noah  was  a  perfect  man,  and  just, 
And  in  the  Lord  he  placed  unshaken  trust: 
To  him  did  God  reveal  His  awful  plan, 
His  firm  resolve  to  sweep  off  wretched  Man: 
But,  in  great  mercy,  told  his  servant,  "Make 
An  ark,  in  which  thou  shalt  thy  family  take;     (d) 
And  when  I  send  the  all-o'erwhelming  tide, 
In  safety  on  its  billows  thou  shalt  ride." 
The  ark  was  made. — 'Twas  by  the  plan  Divine; 
And  in  the  whole  what  grace  and  justice  shine! 
The  bad  were  sever'd  from  the  righteous  few, 
And  swept  away  in  one  promisc'ous  crew. 
But  lo!  the  long  mock'd  day  at  length  appears, 
When  Justice  claims  of  Man  its  grand  arrears; 
The  lowering  clouds  now  scud  along  the  sky, 
And  growling  thunders  speak  the  tempest  nigh; 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS.  29 

The  lightning's  vivid  flash  shines  round  the  world, 

And  globes  of  fire  are  through  the  darkness  hurl'd: 

The  Earth,  disparting,  gushes  out  with  streams, 

And  men  and  women  fly  with  fearful  screams; 

But,  vain  is  help!  the  wat'iy  deluge  pours, 

And  far  and  near  the  wide-spread  ruin  roars: 

For  reservoirs  of  water,  from  above, 

In  large  and  swift-descending  volumes  move; 

The  barriers  of  the  deep  are  torn  away, 

And  earth  and  heav'n  join  the  grand  display. 

In  fearful  torrents  see  the  floods  arise, 

And  tumble  in  vast  waves  around  the  skies; 

For,  lo!  the  mountains  hide  their  lofty  peaks, 

And  not  an  intervening  twig  the  billows  breaks — 

Above  the  mountains — fifteen  cubits  high,* 

And  in  the  wat'ry  waste  what  millions  die! 

But  see  good  Noah  and  his  happy  few, 

Ride  on  the  waves  secure  and  cheerful  too; — 

Upborne  aloft,  until  at  God's  command, 

On  Ararat  his  floating  timbers  stand! 

Of  every  living  soul  beneath  the  sky, 

All,  in  this  gen'ral  inundation,  die; 

And  lo!  none  but  the  number  eight  is  found, 

To  cultivate  the  soil  and  till  the  ground: 

But  so  prodigiously  men  multiply, 

The  earth  is  peopled  soon  both  far  and  nigh; 

But  ah!  the  monster — Sin — uprear'd  its  head, 

And  gather'd  power  as  the  people  spread: 

For  Nimrod  now  upon  the  earth  appears; 

And  man,  in  pride,  the  Tower  of  Babel  rears; 

*A  cubit,  22  inches;  15  by  22=330  feet!    Great  God!  who  would 
not  dread  thy  vengeance? 


30  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS. 

The  power  of  the  Highest  he  defies, 

And  thought  his  edifice  should  reach  the  skies; 

For  still,  as  yet,  the  people  were  but  one, 

And  greater  deeds  than  now  could  then  be  done. 

But  God  Almighty  mark'd  their  vain  design, 

And  bade  confusion  o'er  them  stretch  her  line; 

Their  language  was  confounded — and  the  thought 

Of  their  projected  building  came  to  nought! 

Thus  God  confutes  the  wisdom  of  the  wise; 

And  thus  man's  schemes  while  in  formation  dies. 

The  very  thing  they  fear'd  was  brought  about; 

While  diff'rent  nations  take  a  diff'rent  route: 
Some  migrate  to  the  East,  some  to  the  West, 
As  diff'rent  birds  and  beasts  repair  to  rest; 

But  in  the  whole  God's  wisdom  stands  confess'd.  „ 

One  instance  more  of  wickedness  in  man, 

Will  show  how  deep  the  dread  contagion  ran: 

Two  spacious  cities  stood  upon  the  plain, 

Where  not  one  trace  of  man  doth  now  remain; 

Th'  inhabitants  indulged  in  bestial  vice, 

So  that  their  hateful  crime  to  heaven  cries; 

But  still,  upon  that  foul,  devoted  spot, 

There  dwelt  one  righteous  man — his  name  was  Lot. 

His  righteous  soul  was  vex'd  from  day  to  day, 

By  their  unhallow'd  and  corruptive  way; 

Hence,  the  Almighty,  in  his  holy  ire, 

Rain'd  on  those  plains  a  general  flood  of  fire: 

From  heav'n  th'  impet'ous  show'r  of  sulphur  came, 

And  set  those  cities  in  a  mighty  flame; 

And  now,  where  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  stood, 

The  lake  Asphaltes  rolls  its  pitchy  flood. 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS.  31 

To  Abraham  the  secret  was  reveal'd, 
Who  pray'd  the  will  of  God  might  be  repeal'd, 
If,  peradventure,  righteous  ten  were  found 
Upon  that  wicked,  death-devoted  ground: 
But,  O!  it  seems  that  angel-eyes,  in  vain, 
Look'd  out  for  ten  on  that  sin-harden'd  plain; 
For  Lot,  his  wife,  and  daughters  two  were  found, 
And  these  alone  in  all  the  cities  round. 
The  latter,  dwelling  in  so  foul  a  place, 
Seem  to  have  caught  the  spirit  of  that  race: 
Remember  the  defection  of  Lot's  wife, 
And  other  acts  that  stigmatiz'd  his  life. 
Those  facts  remain  on  the  Divine  record, 
Lest  we,  like  Lot,  should  sin  against  the  Lord. 
At  length,  when  all  the  cities  seemed  at  ease, 
And  not  a  leaf  now  rustled  in  the  breeze; 
When  th*  eastern  sun  rose  beautifully  bright, 
And  flush'd  the  heavens  with  his  golden  light; 
While  Lot  yet  linger'd,  and  the  air  was  still, 
And  angels  led  him  onward  to  the  hill; 
Just,  on  a  sudden,  black  wing'd  tempests  rise, 
And  streams  of  lightning  blaze  athwart  the  skies; 
The  air  is  thicken'd  with  the  rolling  smoke, 
And  storms  of  sulphur  all  the  ether  choke; 
While  rending  thunders  drown  the  hue-and-cry 
Of  wretched  victims  doom'd  by  God  to  die! 
The  angel,  leading  Lot  and  his  slow  wife, 
Said — "Tarry  not;  but  now  escape  for  life; 
Look  not  behind  thee — to  the  mountain  fly, 
Lest  in  the  teeming  ruin  thou  should'st  die!" 
But  O!  Lot's  wife  the  injunction  disobey  "d, 
And  for  her  sin  was  an  example  made: 


32  MUSIC    OF    THE   MORNING    STARS. 

Th'  encrusting  show'r  her  feeble  limbs  encase, 
And  long  she  occupied  a  certain  place; 
A  sad  memento  of  her  overthrow, 
And  all  that  she  so  much  esteem'd  below. 
But  let  us  now  return,  to  take  a  view 
Of  Adam's  case,  for  this  was  wretched  too; 
For  by  his  crime  he  introduced  a  void, 
And  harm'ny  in  the  works  of  God  destroy'd. 
No  longer  now  the  Empyrean  rung; 
The  Stars  of  Morning  now  no  longer  sung; 
They  movM  in  silence  through  the  vast  expanse, 
And  Hell's  myrmidons  all  appear'd  to  dance! 
A  pause  in  heaven  follow'd — all  was  still — 
And  angels  sought  to  know  their  Maker's  will! 
The  Father,  rising  from  His  shining  throne, 
Asked — "Who  for  fallen  man  shall  now  atone? 
Gabriel,  wilt  thou  lay  all  thy  glory  by, 
And  go  to  yonder  world  for  man  to  die?" 
Said  Gabriel — "Lord,  though  I,  at  thy  command, 
Could  overturn  the  globe  by  my  right  hand, 
And  crush  ten  thousand  worlds  like  that  to  dust, 
Yet  O,  my  God!    it  is  too  high  a  trust. 
Without  the  shedding  of  some  creature's  bloody 
There  can  be  no  remission  with  my  God; 
And  angels,  Lord,  thou  know'st  have  none  to  shed, 
Exemption,  therefore,  may  they  justly  plead. 
I  am  but  finite  too — no  pow'r  but  thine, 
No  skill  can  form  a  project  so  divine: 
Not  all  the  angel-pow'rs  above,  below, 
Can  now  avert  the  force  of  Satan's  blow; 
If  thou,  Omnipotent,  canst  not  devise 
Some  scheme  of  safety — guilty  Adam  dies!" 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS.  33 

But  be  astonish'd,  Earth!     Look  down,  ye  skies; 

Gaze,  O  ye  Morning  Stars,  with  all  your  eyes! 

The  second  person  in  the  Trinity, 

Arose  and  said — "Be  all  the  blame  on  ME: 

I'll  die  for  man,  to  make  his  safety  sure, 

And  Hell's  dark  spirits  shall  rejoice  no  more! 

I  will  destroy  death's  formidable  dart, 

And  let  him  glut  his  malice  in  my  heart; 

And  by  my  bitter,  Jast  expiring  groan, 

Completely  will  the  King  of  Death  dethrone. 

I  will  assume  man's  nature,  hunger,  thirst, 

And  then,  at  last,  die  on  a  free  accurs'd; 

But,  on  the  third  day,  I  in  pow'r  will  rise, 

And  thus  ascend  up  to  my  Father's  joys: 

There,  stand  for  ever  as  man's  great  High  Priest, 

Until  he  enters  my  eternal  rest." 

The  father  spoke: — "I  now  accept  the  price — 

I  yield  to  give  my  Son  a  sacrifice;" 

"Then,"  said  the  Holy  Ghost,  "I  too  will  join, 

To  seal  man's  pardon  as  conjointly  mine!" 

The  Mighty  God  now  hail'd  the  new-made  pair 

"Adam,  where  art  thou?     To  me  draw  near, 

And  tell  the  cause  why  thou  art  fill'd  with  fear."   ) 

"I  found  that  I  was  naked; — for  the  wife 

THOU  gavest  me,  to  be  my  mate  through  life, 

Gave  me  the  fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree, 

And  brought  me  to  the  helpless  state  you  see!" 

"Adam— because  thou  hast  so  badly  done,     „ 

In  labor  shall  thy  troubled  moments  run; 

Thy  bread  by  sweat  and  toil  thou  shalt  obtain, 

And  all  thy  days  be  liable  to  pain. 


34  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS. 

Thy  partner's  sorrows  shall  be  multiplied, 

And  death,  at  last,  th'  unhappy  pair  divide: 

For  henceforth,  thou  shalt  be  from  Eden  driv'n, 

Lest  thou  transgress  again  the  laws  of  heav'n; 

A  double  flaming  sword  shall  guard  the  place, 

And  drive  thee  forth  into  the  wilderness: 

Nevertheless,  if  thou  wilt  now  obey, 

I've  open'd  up  a  new  and  living  way; 

Thou  may'st  be  sav'd  through  Christ,  rny  only  Son, 

And  pardon 'd  for  the  deed  thou  now  hast  done." 

Now,  when  the  Morning  Stars  had  heard  the  plan, 
They  sang  aloud,  the  Love  of  God  to  Man; — 
"Good  will  from  heav'n  to  men;  abounding  peace — 
Reign  on  the  earth,  and  never,  never  cease!" 
To  pious  shepherds  on  fair  BethTem's  plain, 
Was  first  announc'd  the  great  Messiah's  reign, 
When,  at  the  midnight  hour,  a  seraph  bright, 
Descended  with  unnumber'd  rays  of  light, 
That  o'er  the  plains  in  arrowy  circles  spread, 
As  peerless  as  the  rainbow  round  his  head. 
"Fear  not,  said  he,  the  joyful  tidings  hear, 
Let  lands  that  lay  in  darkness  lend  an  ear; 
Glad  tidings  to  the  world  aloud  proclaim, 
Messiah's  born — and  Jesus  is  His  name! 
To-day  he  makes  his  visit,  man,  to  you, 
But  not  in  pomp  as  earthly  monarchs  do; 
For,  lo!  his  bed  in  yonder  manger  stands, 
The  King  of  Kings  is  wrapp'd  in  swaddling  bands:* 
Go  and  salute  the  Sovereign  of  the  skies, 
And  with  the  Magi  let  your  praises  rise: 
To  him  they  now  their  costly  off 'rings  bring, 
And,  low,  adore  their  Prophet,  Priest,  and  King. 


MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS.  35 

They've  seen  His  Star — it  guides  their  wand'ring  feet, 
They've  found  the  place  of  Israel's  God's  retreat. 
Hark!  now  with  heavenly  sounds  the  welkin  rings, 
A  countless  multitude  the  chorus  sings: 
•  "Glory  to  God  in  heaven's  heights  be  giv'n, 
Peace  and  good  will  descend  to  man  from  heav'n! 
The  Savior's  born  to  cancel  human  guilt, 
For  man,  for  favor'd  man,  His  blood  is  spilt; 
Let  Adam's  fallen  race  His  praise  proclaim, 
And  sing  the  matchless  glory  of   his  name." 
But  O!  the  skies  with  far  less  lustre  shone. 
And  all  the  starry  hosts  put  mourning  on; 
But  when  they  heard  the  soul-reviving  plan, 
They  twinkled  praise  to  Him  who  bled  for  man. 
The  Moon,  that  formerly  had  shone  so  bright, 
Refus'd  to  shine  but  with  a  varied  light; 
Hence,  once  a  month,  she  veils  her  silver  face, 
As  if  to  mourn  for  man's  rebellious  race, 
And  once  a  month  she  shines  with  fall  orb'd  rays, 
As  a  just  tribute  to  Redeeming  Grace. 
The  Sun,  abash'd  at  such  an  awful  sight, 
No  longer  shone  with  more  than  half  his  light; 
And  thus  address'd  the  Moon,  with  silver  ray, 
"Go — rule  the  night,  and  I  will  rule  the  day: 
Thus  will  we  shine  and  sing  with  one  consent, 
Till  Time's  now  fluctuating  term  is  spent: 
But  since  THE  SON  His  life  for  man  has  giv'n, 
So  that  he  yet  may  raise  and  sing  in  heav'n, 
We'll  move  in  silence  through  the  vast  expanse, 
And  lead  the  Planets  in  their  lofty  dance. 
The  sat'llites,  too,  that  on  our  orbs  attend, 
Shall  speak  His  praise  till  time  itself  shall  end; 


36  MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING   STARS. 

And  though  no  real  voice  be  heard,  the  spheres 
Shall  sing  to  latest  days  in  Reason's  ears, 
And  to  all  lands  this  blessed  truth  proclaim, 
A  God  alone  could  build  so  grand  a  frame! 
The  surging  sea,  in  his  eternal  roar, 
The  beaten  rocks  along  his  shelly  shore; 
The  silent  calm  that  on  his  bosom  lests, 
When  halcyons  brood  in  safety  on  their  nests;  (e) 
His  billows  when,  at  times,  toss'd  mountain  high 
By  angry  winds,  that  in  a  murmur  die; 
All  then  shall  join  to  speak  His  worthy  praise, 
Who  bears  so  long  with  man's  unhallow'd  ways." 

Hence,  then,  we  find  the  Music  of  the  Spheres, 
Has  been  continued  near  six  thousand  years; 
And  yet  how  long  they  shall  remain  to  sing, 
Is  only  known  to  Heav'ns  Eternal  King. 
But  now  you  have  an  humble  poet's  views, 
Of  the  first  great  origin  of  the  Muse; 
And  should  some  abler  pen  my  thoughts  succeed, 
Man's  future  race  may  bless  him  for  the  deed. 


NOTES 

ON    THE    MUSIC    OF    THE    MORNING    STARS. 


(/i)    It  is  the  opinion  of  some  great  men  that  the  comets  which 
sometimes  make  their  appearance,  and 

"From  their  horrid  hair, 
Shake  pestilence  and  war." 

are  star?  which  have  probably  left  their  orbits,  and  now  wander 
through  the  region?  of  illimitable  space.  From  their  well  known 
and  stated  returns,  at  different  periods,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  the 
Almighty  has  appended  them  to  the  planetary  system  for  some  pur- 
poses of  which  we  know  nothing  until  he  shall  be  pleased  to  re- 
veal them;  or  until  the  increasing  light  of  science  shall  have  solved 
the  enigma.  It  is  certainly  an  extravagant  and  absurd  notion  to 
suppose,  those  comets  are  half  formed  worlds  in  a  chaotic  state,  as 
this  would  go  to  argue  that  the  great  Architect  of  the  universe  had 
commenced  a  system,  which  he  wanted  cither  the  wisdom  or  the 
power  to  finish.  Others  with  more  plausibility,  suppose  that  the 
stated  returns  of  those  apparently  eccentrical  stars,  are  to  supply 
the  still  decreasing  moisture  of  the  earth.  This  may  be  the  fact, 
or  it  may  not— it  is  but  conjecture  at  the  best.  I  have  my  doubts 
of  all  those  theories  which  cannot  afford  a  mathematical  demon- 
stration. As  far  as  philosophy  agrees  with  the  Bible,  so  far  am  I 
reconciled  to  her  dogmas. 

(6)  Are  fill'd  with  an  inebriating  juice,  &c. 
It  may  admit  of  dispute  whether  this  assertion  be  philosophically 
correct  or  not;  for  it  has  been  said  that  the  grain  does  not  possess 
any  poisonous  quality  until  it  is  tortured  into  poison  by  the  chemi- 
cal process  of  distillation;  but  to  this  we  reply — previous  to  the  fall 
of  man,  no  plant,  no  vegetable,  nor  any  thing  beside,  could  have 


38  NOTES. 

had  a  poisonous  or  unwholesome  nature: — As  a  part,  things  were 
good;  and  as  a  whole,  .they  were  very  good;  and  so  the  Almighty 
pronounced  them 

(c;  It  is  the  improper  use  of  ardent  spirits  which  the  writer 
condemns.  The  apostle  assures  us,  "Every  creature  of  God  is 
good,  if  received  'with  thanksgiving  and  prayer;'  "  but  can  that 
person  use  ardent  spirits  "with  thanksgiving  and  prayer,"  who  is 
in  the  habit  of  taking  his  daily  morning  dram,  as  it  is  called?  We 
think  not:  for  the  very  use  of  it,  in  this  common  way,  has  an  un- 
favorable effect  upon  a  man's  devotional  faculties. 

(d)  The  dimensions  of  Noah's  ark  were  computed  as  follow: 

feet.  I  tons 

Length  of  keel,        .        .  300  |  Its  burden  as  a  man-of- 

Breadth  by  the  midship  beam,     50  I      war, 4,500 

Depth  in  the  hold,    .        .        .    30  |  As  a  merchant  ship,         4,736 
So  the  ark  was  amply  sufficient  for  every  purpose  for  which  it 
was  intended. 

(e)  It  has  been  said  by  superstitious  mariners,  that  during  the 
incubation  of  the  halcyon  (or  king  fisher)   there  is  a  perfect  calm 
on  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 


A  RIGHTEOUS   CHARACTER  DISPLAYED; 


An  Elegiac  Eulogium  on  the  Death  and  Character  of  the  Reverend 
LEWIS  ROMULUS  FECHTIG,  Presiding  Elder  in  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church,  who  was  called  from  his  ministerial  labors  and 
usefulness  in  the  prime  of  his  days— Sept.  25, 1823. 


Ego  sequor,  rum  pacibtu  equ.it. 
'•I  shall  follow,  though  not  with  equal  steps/' 

FECHTIG  is  dead!     Thou  man  of  God,  farewell! 

My  spirit  mourns  while  on  thy  death  I  dwell: 

But  yet,  with  triumph,  I  pursue  thy  flight, 

Through  Faith's  fair  optics,  to  the  world  of  light. 

Mysterious  Providence!     How  sad  the  blow, 

That  left  the  church  in  mourning  here  below! 

How  Zion  mourn'd  when  our  lov'd  Fechtig  fell, 

Whose  eloquence  oft  shook  the  gates  of  hell! 

How  hard  the  stroke!     How  wide  the  bleeding  wound! 

"Fechtig  is  dead" — conveys  a  pensive  sound: 

The  hills,  the  dales,  th'  afflictive  news'  convey— 

"Great  Fechtig  mingles  with  his  fellow -clay." 

But  still,  methinks,  I  hear  his  pleasing  voice, 

That  often  made  the  midnight  groves  rejoice; 

That  bade  the  mourner  wipe  his  falling  tears, 

And  lull'd  his  groundless,  and  foreboding  fears. 


40  A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER    DISPLAYED     * 

How  often,  when  the  thousand  eyes  of  night, 

With  twinkling  majesty  shone  full  and  bright, 

(While  yet  the  pale-fac'd  moon  was  at  low  tide, 

Or  faintly  glimmer'd  on  the  mountain's,  side,) 

I've  sat  me  down  beneath  the  stately  oak, 

Till  more  than  half  convinced  an  angel  spoke?  (a) 

How  rung  the  coves  amid  the  glaring  light  (b) 

That  shone  from  diff 'rent  strands!   (a  pleasing  sight!) 

While  with  a  musical  but  fervent  tone, 

I've  heard  him  plead  for  sinners  at  the  Throne? 

In  audience  with  Jehovah,  then  appear'd 

The  man — and  most  audacious  sinners  fear'd; 

While  loud  AMENS  to  heaven's  high  concave  rung, 

And  hearty  prayers  from  every  pious  tongue. 

But  see  him  rise! — Behold  what  sparkling  grace, 

Illumes  each  feature  of  his  angel-face! 

With  what  a  solemn  air!  yet  calm — serene — 

Expressive  of  that  greater  calm  within. 

But  as  exhilirating  prospects  rise. 

And  scenes  of  glory  pass  before  his  eyes, 

His  manly  voice  ascends — it  takes  its  flight, 

And  mingles  with  the  first-born  sons  of  light. 

As  some  tall  oak  that  stands  above  the  rest, 

With  a  perpetual  genial  season  blest; — 

So  Fechtig  spread  his  beauties  to  the  skies, 

And  in  his  count'nance  bloom'd  a  paradise. 

Ye  lifeless  orators,  whose  warmest  zeal 

Can  hardly  make  adoring  seraphs  feel; 

Whose  strains,  though  labor'd,  are  but  cold  and  dry,  (c) 

HE  was  the  man  for  you  to  copy  by! 

How  little  profit  sermons  void  of  FIRE, 

Or  those  smooth  things  promulg'd  alone  for  hire? 


A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER   DISPLAYED.  41 

He  was  the  man! — A  model  of  true  zeal, 

His  sermons  made  the  lordly  tyrant  feel,  (rf) 

He  plung'd  the  dagger — Truth — into  his  heart, 

And  made  him  GROAN  beneath  the  painful  smart. 

A  son  of  Thunder  and  of  Comfort  too, 

He  kept  his  awful  mission  full  in  view; — 

Preached  with  authority,  like  his  dear  Lord, 

And  kept  back  nothing  left  upon  record. 

Yes, — to  his  lasting  honor,  be  it  said, 

The  golden  wedge  had  not  disturbed  his  head — 

A  minister  fill'd  with  the  Holy  Ghost, 

And  Faith, — the  Savior  was  his  mighty  boast. 

While  others  court  the  honors  of  the  great, 

'Twas  his  to  scorn  the  titles  of  estate: 

Fitted  by  nature  to  enjoy  them  all; 

He  all  abandoned  at  his  Master's  call — 

Left  his  dear  home  to  face  the  pelting  storm — 

For  bleeding  Love  the  coldest  heart  will  warm; 

And  faithful  to  his  great  and  awful  trust, 

He  gathered  souls  as  misers  gather  dust. 

He  never  slumber'd  o'er  his  red-cross  shield, 

But,  as  a  noble  vet'ran,  kept  the  field. 

Arm'd  with  the  spirit's  never-failing  sword, 

He  fought,  in  truth,  the  battles  of  the  Lord. 

He  laboi'd  early,  and  he  labor'd  late; 

He  thought  no  service  for  his  God  too  great- 

His  soul  was  honest  in  the  sacred  cause; — 

The  tenor  of  his  life  deserves  applause. 

Yes; — be  it  known,  great  Fechtig's  name  stood  faifj 

No  blemishes  his  spotless  course  impair: 

Like  CALEB,  fully  followed  he  his  Lord, 

And  faithful  mem  Vies  will  the  fact  record, 


42  A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER   DISPLAYED. 

Let  no  rude  hand,  unconscious  of  his  worth, 
Affect  to  treat  with  disrespect  his  birth: — 
For  they,  to  whom  so  fine  a  son  was  born, 
Are  plac'd,  at  once,  beyond  the  reach  of  scorn! 
Yes, — little  ones,  with  reverence  shall  say, 
As  Fechtig's  parents  pass  along  the  way, 
"There  goes  the  father  of  that  man  of  God, 
Who  taught  mankind  to  walk  the  narrow  road;" 
Or — "there  is  Fechtig's  mother! — Matron  blest, 
Thou  had'st  a  son,  whose  name  shall  stand  confest, 
Among  the  men  of  heav'n-exalted  worth, 
And  heaven  smil'd  upon  thee  in  his  birth!" 
But  he  is  gone!     How  happy  was  his  flight! 
Fechtig  in  death? — It  was  a  glorious  sight! 
What  radiant  forms  attend  the  bed  of  death, 
While  Fechtig  struggled  for  immortal  breath? 
To  die — he  did  not  die — but  nobly  lives, 
And  endless  being  with  his  God  receives. 
When  once  his  clay-wall  house  had  fallen  down, 
He  soar'd  and  seiz'd  a  kingdom  and  a  crown. 
As  did  his  soul  from  earth  to  heav'n  aspire, 
The  chariots  saw  ye  not? — The  wheels  of  fire? 
The  mighty  steeds  that  cleft  th'  opposing  wind, 
When  he  his  earthly  mantle  dropp'd  behind? 
If  ye  have  caught  it,  bind  that  mantle  fast 
About  your  breast,  and  keep  it  to  the  last, 
So  that  a  double  share  of  grace  be  sent, 
To  those  who  stay  as  when  Elijah  went. 
A  waiting  ministerial  host,  convoy 
Th'  immortal  Fechtig  to  the  realms  of  joy: 
The  Savior  bids  him  welcome  to  the  skies, 
And  cherubs  hail  him  with  sweet  symphonies. 


A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER   DISPLAYED.  43 

"Enter,"  says  Jesus; — "share  that  vast  reward, 

And  live  for  ever  happy  in  thy  Lord: 

To  endless  ages  sing  that  great  new  song, 

While  'glory*  dwells  on  thy  seraphic  tongue." 

Hff  harp  is  tun'd!— Cherubic  legions  round, 

Catch  higher  bliss  at  its  extatic  sound: 

Adoring  throngs  with  greater  awe  adore, 

As  Fechtig  sings  the  Lamb  for  evermore — 

The  Lamb  who  erst  on  Calv'ry's  bloody  brow, 

His  head  beneath  a  world  of  guilt  did  bow, 

But  who,  arising,  broke  the  bars  of  death, 

And  conquer'd  all  the  grisly  powers  beneath; 

So  Fechtig  died! — He  conquer'd  when  he  fell, 

And  rose  triumphant  over  death  and  holl: 

But  while  he  shall  to  endless  ages  shine, 

The  HONOR  and  the  VICT'RV,  Lord,  BE  THINE! 

'Twas  thou,  my  God,  who  mad'st  his  soul  to  glow 

With  heav'nly  warmth,  to  bless  the  world  below: 

'Twas  thou  did'st  light  his  tongue  with  quick'ning  flame, 

And  taught  mankind  to  bow  at  Jesus's  name,  (e) 

What  though  no  sculptur'd  marble  mark  his  head? 

Legions  of  angels  guard  his  dusty  bed; — 

And  though  the  mountains  be  on  oceans  tost, 

And  earth  torn  piecemeal  in  the  tempest  lost, 

Yet,  not  one  atom  of  his  sleeping  clay, 

Shall  want  its  fellow  on  that  awful  day — 

But  rais'd,  renew'd,  and  modell'd  all  divine, 

Shall  in  the  likeness  of  Immanuel  shine. 

What  though  no  bronze  immortalize  his  name, 

Nor  speak  his  worth?— Jehovah  is  the  same: 

The  death  of  Saints  is  precious  in  his  sight, 

And  He  will  register  his  soul's  delight. 


44  A   BIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER   DISPLAYED. 

Fechtig  farewell!     I  mourn  the  Church's  loss, 

Yet  hail  the  victories  of  the  Great  Red  Cross: 

Though  thou  art  gone,  thy  God  can  raise  up  more, 

And  spread  his  glory  to  each  distant  shore. 

Fechtig,  farewell!     Ere  long  the  trump  shall  sound,** 

And  rouse  the  slumb'ring  tenants  under  ground; 

Whilst  thou,  upstarting  from  thy  peaceful  bed, 

Shall  rise  with  endless  glory  on  thy  head: — 

A  body  nimble  as  the  light'ning  beams, 

When  from  the  chambers  of  the  East  it  gleams — 

Immortaliz'd  and  freed  from  mortal  things, 

Thou  shalt  receive  a  seraph's  golden  wings. 

Thy  body,  fitted  for  thy  vasty  soul, 

Shall  range  those  blessed  climes  without  control; 

The  King  of  Kings  in  beauty  thou  shalt  see, 

And  shout  his  praise  to  all  eternity. 

O  blessed  day,  that  calls  his  exiles  home, 

That  cleaves  the  sky  and  wakes  the  general  doom! 

His  servants  then,  of  every  sect  shall  meet, 

And  lay  their  laurels  at  the  conq'ror's  feet. 

Their  differences  then  will  all  subside, 

And  happy  while  eternal  ages  glide, 

They  all  shall  join,  in  love-enkindled  lays, 

And  chant  aloud  their  common  Savior's  praise. 

Come,  then,  my  God,  to  longing  eyes  appear, 

And  scatter  blessings  on  thy  people  here! 

Roll  the  reproach  from  Zion's  bleeding  door, 

And  call  and  send  ten  thousand  preachers  more 

With  Fechtig's  spirit,  so  the  world  may  fall, 

Before  the  cross,  and  own  thee  Lord  of  all. 

Yes; — Fechtig's  love  to  man  was  unconfin'd; — 

It  reach'd  to  diff 'rent  sects — to  all  mankind: 

He  FELT,  he  SPOKE,  he  LIV'D  the  truths  he  taught, 

As  conscious  of  the  worth  of  souls  the  Lord  had  bought. 


A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER    DISPLAYED.  15 

Go,  reader,  tread  the  paths  that  Fechtig  trod, 

And  thou  shalt  reign  eternally  with  God! 

But  lo!  by  faith  I  see  a  shining  band, 

With  palms  of  vict'ry  in  each  deathless  hand; 

In  robes  of  spotless  white  they  are  array'd; 

They  march  in  cheerful  columns  wide  display'd: 

To  Salem's  peaceful  gates  they  bend  their  way; 

On  golden  harps  how  joyfully  they  play! 

Their  hopes,  their  fears,  their  num'rous  griefs  subside. 

Nor  time,  nor  death,  can  kindred  souls  divide. 

With  songs  they  enter  the  celestial  gates; 

The  blessed  Jesus  their  arrival  waits: 

Each  raptur'd  saint  proclaims  the  Savior's  praise, 

While  angels  strike  their  sweetest,  noblest  lays. 

See,  now,  a  form  majestically  bright, 

(His  figure  proves  he  is  a  son  of  light,) 

With  lightning  speed  the  deathless  band  draws  near, 

And  speaks  aloud,  "My  brethren,  welcome  here! 

Pm  glad  to  meet  your  faithful  souls  at  last; 

The  storm  is  o'er — the  doubtful  conflict's  past! 

Here  pilgrims  rest,  nor  heave  one  mournful  sigh; 

Here  pleasures  undescribed  shall  never  die! 

When  at  a  distance  I  had  bade  adieu, 

To  all  below,  I  hop'd  to  meet  witn  you." 

'Tis  Fechtig  speaks!  His  converts  know  his  voice, 

And  rushing  to  his  arms,  they  all  rejoice; 

But  still  they  give  the  glory  to  the  Lamb, 

Through  whom  they  all  to  that  blest  region  came. 

In  tenements  not  subject  to  decay, 

Cloth'd  with  a  nobler  house  than  that  of  clay; 

In  firmer  bonds  they  walk  the  climes  above, 

And  pluck  the  fruits  of  Jesu's  dying  love. 


46  A    RIGHTEOUS    CHARACTER   DISPLAYED. 

0  happy  union  and  perennial  ties, 

Not  death  dissolves  the  kindred  of  the  skies! 
And  they  who  serve  the  Lord  with  holy  fear, 
Shall  meet  an  ample  compensation  there. 
Fechtig  farewell!     When  this  poor  house  of  clay 
Shall  sink  into  a  ruinous  decay, 

1  hope  my  happy  soul  shall  meet  with  thine, 
To  sing,  in  notes  symphonious,  love  divine! 
But  ah!  how  far  my  notes  shall  fall  below 
The  strains  that  in  thy  raptur'd  bosom  glow: 
But  I'm  content,  if  I  but  gain  a  seat 
Among  the  thrones  of  saints,  at  Fechtig's  feet! 
Yes — precious  Savior! — if  thou  art  but  near, 
Thy  presence  shall  dispel  all  gloomy  fear; 
And  though  not  as  superior  grades  I  shine, 

I  shall  be  blest  to  count  his  triumphs  mine. 

Hallelujah!  For  the  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth! 


NOTES 


(a)  Till  more  than  half  convinced,  &c. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Fechiig's  voice  was  peculiarly  pleasing  and  harmo- 
nious. The  author  of  these  lines  looks  back  with  the  most  cheer- 
ing, yet  melancholy  reflections,  on  those  golden  moments  when  he 
enjoyed  the  advantages  of  the  ministry  of  that  great  man  of  God:— 
cheering,  because,  he  was  strengthened  and  edified  by  his  labors;  but 
melancholy,  since  that  period  is  past  forever;  but  "he,  being  dead, 
yet  speaketh."  "Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord!'* 
(6)  How  rung  the  coves  amid  the  glaring  light,  &c. 

The  open  firmament,  bespanglad  with  its  thousand  brilliant  stars, 
which  glitter  through  the  midniglit  gloom;— the  moon  walking  in  her 
brightness  along  the  ethereal  way;  the  various  lights,  situated  at 
given  distances,  through  the  verdant  grove;  the  voice  of  heaven- 
inspired  music;  and,  to  which  may  be  added,  the  strains  of  a  lively 
orator,  (and  such  was  Fechtig,)  dealing  out  the  word  of  eternal  life, 
all  unite  to  form  a  scene  more  grand,  solemn,  and  majestic,  than  the 
author  is  able  to  describe.  But  alas!  those  tones  of  our  beloved 
brother  are  hushed  forever  in  the  silence  of  the  grave.  Reader, 
will  the  Lord  raise  up  another  Fechtig  to  intercede  between  thy 
God  and  thee?  Then  fly,  quickly  fly  to  that  "blood  that  speaketh 
better  things  than  the  blood  of  Abel."  It  now  speaks  in  thy  be- 
half before  the  throne.  Haste  to  Jesus!  There  is  mercy  and 
salvation  there! 

(c)  Whose  strains,  though  labor 'd,  are  hut  cold  and  dry,  &c. 

The  author  does  not  wish  to  cast  any  personal  reflections  on  those 
denominations  who  see  proper  to  give  their  ministers  a  stated  salary. 


Ministers  of  the  Gospel  are  en  tilled  to  a  genteel  support;— for  "the 
workman  is  worthy  of  his  meat."  But  how  many  have  monopo- 
lized the  word,  and  made  the  Gospel  a  machine  for  amassing  wealth, 
regardless  of  their  awful  charge?  It  was  a  saying  of  one  of  our 
venerable  reformers,  that  "hell  is  paved  with  priests,  as  far  as  from 
Calais  to  Dover."  But  let  me  not  dishearten  that  noble  set  of  men, 
who  "count  not  their  lives  dear  unto  them,''  but  spend  their  sweat, 
their  blood  and  tears,  in  the  cause  of  the  Redeemer. 

"His  heritage  they  toil  to  clear, 
And  cultivate  Emmanuel's  land." 

Such  characters  deserve  our  highest  veneration;  and  whatever 
their  names  may  be,  or  let  them  belong  to  what  peculiar  sect  they 
may,  yet  God  looks  on  them  with  delight;  and,  ere  long,  will  amply 
reward  their  "labor  of  love." 

(d)  His  sermons  made  the  lordly  tyrant  feel,  &c. 
This  assertion  was  exemplified  in  a  sermon,  which  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Fechtig  preached  at  a  camp  meeting  in  *  *  *  *  *,  when  a  certain 
gentleman  arose,  and,  with  some  warmth,  very  impolitely  inter- 
rupted the  preacher  as  well  as  the  audience.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Fechtig,  perhaps,  probed  his  wound  too  deeply! 

(e)  And  taught  mankind  to  bow  at  Jesu's  name,  &c. 

When  Mr.  Fechtig  was  preaching  at  N.  R.  a  certain  man,  "who 
was  a  sinner,"  was  laid  prostrate  on  the  earth,  under  the  influence 
of  the  word: — he  arose,  with  some  difficulty,  and  scrambled  away 
as  quick  as  possible.  "There  is  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Fechtig,  "who 
would  now  obtain  religion,  if  he  would  but  yield  to  the  operations 
of  the  spirit  of  God."  The  man,  who  was  the  subject  of  this 
work,  in  a  subsequent  conversation  with  a  religious  friend,  who 
communicated  it  to  me,  observed,  "previous  to  my  falling  to  the 
earth,"  (such  was  the  remorse  of  his  conscience,)  "I  plainly  dis- 
covered streams  of  fire,  proceeding  from  Fechtig's  mouth,  arid 
darting  to  each  individual  through  the  congregation.  I  could  not 
withstand  the  force  with  which  he  spoke,  and  involuntarily  fell  to 
the  earth."  That  great  and  good  man,  the  Rev.  George  Whitefield, 
gives  us  an  account  of  an  affhir  somewhat  similar  to  the  above  cir- 
cumstance. He  tells  us,  when  he  was  preaching  in  a  grave  yard , 


NOTES.  49 

at  Moorefields,  (England,)  he  discovered  a  large,  bold  looking 
man,  standing  on  a  tomb-stone,  above  the  rest  of  the  congregation: 
"I  looked  sternly  at  him,"  said  Mr.  Whitefield,  and  cried  aloud, 
"come  down,  you  rebel,  and  submit  to  God!"  He  instantly  fell,  as 
if  shot,  and  did  not  arise  from  the  earth  until  I  had  reasons  to  be- 
lieve he  was  savingly  turned  to  God.  But,  perhaps,  I  have  gone 
too  far.  I  shall  be  accused  of  enthusiasm,  superstition,  and  fanati- 
cism. If,  however,  I  may  be  a  subject  of  those  blessed  operations, 
of  which  Mr.  Whitefield  has  so  successfully  talked,  and  about 
which  his  illustrious  friend,  John  Wesley,  has  so  powerfully 
preached,  then — let  the  world  mock  on! — I  am  contented. 


THE  VOICE  OF  NATURE. 

SEE  the  star  be-spangled  sky, 

And  those  brilliant  orbs  on  high; 

As  in  ether  each  one  floats, 

Sing  they  not  the  softest  notes? 

Hear  their  music  as  they  roll; — 

Do  they  not  inform  thy  soul, 

That  their  Maker  is  divine, 

In  whom  brighter  glories  shine? 

See  yon  vivid  lightning  dart! 

Awes  it  not  thy  thoughtless  heart? 

Hear  loud  rumbling  thunders  roll, 

Hoarsely  grumbling  to  each  pole! 

Do  these  no  information  give, 

Nor  teach  vain  mortals  how  to  live? 

They  but  inform — 'tis  all  they  can! — 

"There  is  a  God  that  reigns  o'er  man!'* 

When  from  the  black-wing'd  clouds  on  high, 

The  rocking,  roaring  whirlwinds  fly, 

The  forests  groan  beneath  his  nod; 

The  raging  tempest  speaks — "A  God!" 

"A  God!"  the  bending  trees  reply; — 

See  His  vibrating  lightnings  fly; — 

The  lofty  mountains  humbly  nod, 

The  thunders  bellow — "There's  a  God!" 


THE    MEMORIAL  OF  THE  JUST. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  Reverend  ENOCH  GEORGE,  Bishop  of 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  who  departed  this  life,  August 
24ih,  1828,  in  the  G2d  year  of  his  age,  gloriously  triumphing  over 
all  the  powers  of  darkness. 


The  righteous  shall  be  had  in  everlasting  remembrance. 

Holy  11'rit. 

LET  others  sing  of  glitt'ring  spears  and  shields, 

Of  furbish'd  swords  and  desolating  fields; 

"Where  tyrant  kings  havedrench'd  the  earth  with  gore, 

And  legions  fell  and  heroes  liv'd  no  more: 

Or  let  Columbian  bards  attune  the  lay, 

And  sing  the  bloody  revolution  day; — 

Those  patriotic  souls  with  ardor  fir'd, 

Who  on  the  heights  of  Bunker's  Hill  expir'd; 

Or  deeds  of  the  far  greater  Washington, 

Whose  fame  extends  to  the  remotest  sun; 

I  chose  a  nobler  theme; — the  men  who  cross'd 

The  cloud-capp'd  mountains,  to  retrieve  the  lost; 

Who  spread  the  triumph  of  Immanuel's  name, 

And  teach  the  savage  heart  with  love  to  flame; 

That  band  I  sing,  which  now  so  long  has  stood, 

In  firmest  phalanx,  obstinately  good; 

Lavish  of  life,  Immanuel's  land  they  clear, 

And  thus  their  fruit  to  full  perfection  bear. 


52  MEMORIAL    OF    THE    JUST. 

Those  men  I  chant  who  earth  and  ocean  cross, 

And,  for  their  Lord,  count  earthly  gain  but  loss; 

Renounce  their  homes,  and  face  the  pelting  storm, 

To  meet  insults  and  shame  in  every  form, 

From  those  who  know  not  their  illustrious  birth, 

And  never  raise  their  thoughts  above  the  earth. 

Such  men  have  an  imperishable  name, 

Though  not  enroll 'd  in  the  fair  book  of  fame; 

Their  deeds  are  registered  in  worlds  on  high, 

Recorded  in  the  archives  of  the  sky. 

GEORGE  was  a  leader  of  this  martial  band; 

And  in  the  front  with  harness  did  he  stand: 

His  breast-piece  was  a  plate  of  righteousness; 

His  feet  were  shod,  pfepar'd  with  gospel-peace. 

His  helmet  full  salvation  was;  his  shield 

Was  faith,  through  which  he  still  mantain'd  the  field: 

He  walk'd  with  loins  begirt  with  Scripture-truth; 

The  Spirit's  sword  he  wielded  from  his  youth: 

It  was  a  two-edg'd  blade,  of  temper  keen, 

It  sunder'd  'twixt  the  sinner  and  his  sin. 

He  supplications  made  and  pray'd  all  prayer, 

And  watch'd  thereto  that  he  might  persevere; 

Thus  did  he  put  the  heavenly  armor  on, 

And  mark'd  the  steps  in  which  his  Master  run; 

For  had  he  laid  this  panoply  aside, 

He  knew  some  evil  might  his  soul  betide. 

His  foes  were  num'rous  and  malignant  too — 

But  grace  will  always  bear  the  faithful  through. 

He  had  not  to  contend  with  flesh  and  blood, 

But  thrones  and  powers,  once  the  sons  of  God; 

Who  still  some  trace  of   ancient  pomp  retain; 

But  hate  the  light  and  spurn  Messiah's  reign: 


MEMORIAL    OF    THE    JUST.  53 

The  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world, 

From  seats  of  bliss  by  flaming  vengeance  hurl'd; 

Who  now  usurp  a  spiritual  reign 

O'er  man;  and  thus,  by  fraud,  their  cause  maintain. 

George  fought  with  these — He  fought  them  o'er  and  o'er; 

For  Satan  vexes  whom  he  can't  devour: 

But  George  withstood  his  wiles: — each  fiery  dart 

Was  quench'd,  through  faith,  in  Jesu's  bleeding  heart; 

Exulting  in  the  grace  his  God  had  bought, 

He  soar'd  and  tasted  joys  surpassing  thought. 

0  could  my  laboring  mind  to  mortals  tell, 
The  solid  joy  with  which  his  breast  did  swell, 
When  he  proclaiin'd  the  glory  of  that  place, 
Where  Jesus  manifests  his  largest  grace! 
But,  O!  it  overpowers  a  soul  like  mine, 

To  dwell  on  themes  so  wondrously  Divine: 
What  heights  and  depths  of  love  did  he  express? 
He  was  indeed,  a  prodigy  of  grace! 
But  mournful  news! — My  aged  friend  is  gone: 
He  sings,  and  shines,  and  shouts  around  the  throne: 
But  I  am  left  to  grovel  here  below, 
And  struggle  with  accumulated  woe. 
Say,  did  you  see  the  Spirit  in  its  flight? 

1  mark'd  its  course;  I  saw  the  convoy  bright; 
From  Salein's  happy  land  that  convoy  came; 
They  bore  his  spirit  in  a  car  of  flame!* 

I  heard  the  wheels — I  saw  the  chariot  roll; 
The  very  sound  sheds  glory  through  my  soul! 
The  fiery  steeds  have  cleft  yon  azure  blue; 
I  gaze — adore — and  long  to  follow  too!f 

*See  2  Kings,  chap,  ii,  11.        \2  Kings,  ii,  12. 


54  MEMORIAL    OF    THE    JUST. 

The  everlasting  doors  admittance  give, 

And  Jesus  cries,  "George,  enter  in  and  live! 

Lay  off  thy  old,  thy  weather-beaten  frame, 

And  join  the  Saints  in  praises  to  my  name. 

Ere  long  I  shall  a  second  time  appear, 

To  shed  fresh  glory  on  my  members  there: 

They  who  have  lov'd  and  serv'd  my  cause  below, 

Shall  then  with  youth  and  grace  immortal  glow; 

Shine  with  new  charms,  and  to  their  glad  surprize, 

In  my  all  glorious  form  they  shall  arise, 

And  beam  with  beauty,  (prodigies  of  grace!) 

And  see  their  God  and  Savior  face  to  face. 

Here  I  will  lead  my  ransom'd  people  forth, 

To  living  streams  of  still  increasing  worth; 

To  pastures  ever  green  they  shall  repair, 

And  I,  the  Lord,  will  be  their  Shepherd  here. 

No  sickness  now  shall  lay  his  pallid  hand 

Upon  the  subjects  of  this  healthful  land; 

But  death  and  sorrow  shall  be  done  away, 

And  pleasure  flow  through  one  eternal  day. 

Here  too  are  scenes  of  permanent  delight,    * 

And  glory  upon  glory  strikes  the  sight; 

For  faith  and  hope  in  full  fruition  cease, 

And  all  is  calm,  substantial,  endless  peace. 

Come  then,  my  son,  my  heir  to  joys  divine, 

A  throne,  a  kingdom,  and  a  crown  are  thine: 

Enter  my  rest,  thou  blessed  of  the  Lord, 

And  take  thy  free,  thy  rich,  immense  reward!" 

All  heaven  shouts;  the  saints  renew  the  strain: 

The  chorus  rolls  through  all  th'  ethereal  plain; 

The  blood-wash'd  throng  now  clap  their  golden  wings, 

And  shout  the  praises  of  the  King  of  kings. 


MEMORIAL   OF   THE   JUST.  55 

See,  George  is  there!  He  tunes  his  harp  anew, 

To  praise  the  arm  that  brought  him  safely  through, 

His  vast  desires  find  full  and  rich  employ; 

He  drinks  of  rivers  of  eternal  joy. 

Q  happy,  happy  place!  Thou  blest  abode, 

Founded  and  built  by  the  Eternal  God! 

Pm  lost!  o'erwhelm'd  by  the  confounding  rays, 

And  turn  me  from  th'  insufferable  blaze. 

All  hail!  ye  soldiers  of  the  great  red  cross; 

With  you,  I  count  the  world  as  filthy  dross; 

I  see  your  labors,  and  your  steps  pursue; 

If  I  can't  shine  as  bright,  I'll  sing  with  you! 

Ye  aged  vet'rans  of  the  cross  go  on; 

Your  toils  and  suff'rings  here  will  soon  be  done. 

The  Lord  will  send  his  chariot  pav'd  with  love, 

And  take  you  to  your  endless  home  above. 

I  travel,  though  but  slowly,  after  you; 

But  hope  to  rise  and  sing  with  angels  too; 

Among  your  radiant  thrones,  or  at  your  feet, 

My  bliss  shall  be  eternal  and  complete. 

Adieu,  dear  George! — Thy  triumph's  so  divine, 

I  long  in  that  immortal  choir  to  join; 

Then  while  below  I  will  begin  the  song, 

And  shout  to  Jesus  as  I  march  along! 

Young  preachers,  who  have  lately  grasp 'd  the  sword, 

Gird  up  and  fight  the  battles  of  the  Lord: 

A  noise  is  heard  among  the  mulb'rry  trees;* 

Go  forward,  and  improve  the  om'nous  breeze. 

Your  captain  is  before!  He  leads  the  van. 

He  gives  the  vict'ry  to  a  single  man! 

*See  Bible  History.         i? 


56  MEMORIAL    OF    THE    JUST. 

Fear  not  your  foes,  though  now  in  dread  array; 
For  with  your  captain  you  shall  win  the  day. 
Be  diligent;  still  watching  unto  prayer; 
The  end  of  all  created  things  is  near. 
With  tempest  and  with  fire  great  JAH  shall  come; 
The  trump  shall  sound— "Return,  ye  exiles  home!" 
O  glorious  period!  what  has  Jesus  bought? 
A  rest  for  me,  surpassing  highest  thought; 
The  grand  magnificence  of  earth  is  poor, 
Compar'd  with  this! — and  yet — I  sue  for  more! 
MY  GOD! — I  beg  my  favor'd  eyes  may  see, 
The  man  who  bled  for  George — who  died  for  ME;" 
That  I  may  join  in  that  exalted  strain, 
"Salvation,  Glory,  Praise  to  God!  Amen!" 
AMEN,  I  cry,  as  from  my  inmost  soul: 
O  may  the  Gospel  fly  from  pole  to  pole; 
Till  heathen  tribes  shall  see  millenial  day, 
And  glory  blaze  through  North  America. 


CHANCE   BLIND; 

OR,    GOD    THE    SOLE    DIRECTOR    OF    THE     AFFAIRS    OF 
THIS    WORLD. 

Go,  thoughtless  man,  and  read 

Th'  existence  of  a  God, 
In  ev'ry  single  seed 

That  peeps  forth  from  the  sod: 
Both  heav'n,  and  earth,  and  air,  and  sea, 
Declare  there  must  a  first  cause  be. 


CHANCE    BLIND.  57 

The  earth  on  which  we  tread, 

With  living  atoms  fraught; 
The  hand,  the  heart,  the  head, 

Display  design,  forethought; 
Contrivance  deep;  surpassing  skill, 
Such  as  Blind  Chance  ne'er  can  or  will. 

How  sprang  this  globe  to  form? 

Were  atoms  blindly  hurl'd 
To  being  by  a  storm? — 

Did  this  produce  a  world? 
Go,  Atheist,  blush — if  you  can — 
Asham'd  to  own  yourself  a  man. 

Old  ocean,  in  his  roar, 

The  living  God  bespeaks; 
The  *yrge  and  shelly  shore, 

The  billow  as  it  breaks; — 
These  speak  his  awful  majesty; 
A  volume  wrote  to  you  and  me. 

The  wonder  of  the  deep 

A  volume  large  displays; 
The  millions  there  that  creep, 

And  all  the  finny  race; 
But  more  than  all  Leviathan, 
Proclaims  His  power  to  ev'ry  man! 

When  old  Vesuvius  roars, 

And  vomits  fiery  flame; 
When  melted  lava  pours 

A  dreadful  liquid  stream; — 
Who  checks  the  awful  burning  flood, 
Or  bids  it  roll  where  towns  once  stood? 
6 


CHANCE    BLIND. 

When  earthquakes  shake  the  ground, 

And  forked  lightnings  fly; 
When  thunders  bellow  round, 

And  clouds  enshroud  the  sky; — 
Who  gives  the  thunderbolt  its  aim, 
Or  makes  the  groaning  earthquake  tame? 

When  hurricanes  and  storms, 
O'er  towns  and  nations  sweep, 

In  all  their  dreadful  forms, 
Who  bids  destruction  sleep? 

Who  curbs,  alike,  the  wind  and  rain, 

And  makes  the  tempest  still  again? 

When  plagues  infest  the  land, 

And  wars  and  famine  rage; 
Who  gives  the  dread  command 

That  these  shall  all  engage 
To  lay  a  haughty  nation  low? — 
Is  it  Blind  Chance  that  gives  the  blow? 

But  what  supports  this  ball, 
The  globe  on  which  we  tread? 

Who  fashion 'd  nature's  hall, 
And  hung  those  lamps  o'erhead? 

Who  spread  yon  sparkling  canopy, 

Or  bade  those  lights  in  order  fly? 

Who  bade  the  blazing  sun 

To  shed  his  genial  ray? — 
To  distant  nations  run 

And  light  and  heat  convey? 
If  Chance  did  this,  'tis  very  odd; — 
But  call  Him  Chance — I  call  Him  God? 


CHANCE    BLIND.  59 


Who  gives  the  sea  his  bounds, 
And  points  the  sun  his  way? 

Marks  to  the  moon  her  rounds, 
And  bids  the  stars  obey? 

So  in  some  thousand  years  not  one 

Has  quit  the  course  that  first  it  run? 

'Tis  God! — all  nature  Cries; 

Reason  a  God  proclaims; — 
"Revere  Him  and  be  wise; 

Adore  his  awful  names; 
His  Majesty's  exceeding  great; 
He  is  a  being  uncreate." 

But  revelation  speaks; 

She  tells  me — "God  is  nigh;" 
My  inmost  spirit  quakes, 

Lest  His  dread  vengeance  fly, 
And,  for  my  follies,  strike  me  dead, 
With  endless  curses  on  my  head. 

But  mercy  speaks  again; — 
My  terrors  all  are  flown! — 

"For  man  he  gave  to  pain 
His  only  darling  Son: 

He  died  for  all  the  human  race; 

His  love  would  all  mankind  embrace!' 

Lord,  all  my  soul  obeys ; 

To  this  retreat  I  fly; 
Then  should  thine  anger  raise, 

Justice  shall  pass  me  by; 
I  shelter  in  thy  only  Son; 
Forgive  me  for  what  HE  has  done; 


THE    SPJIEAD    OF    THE    GOSPEL. 

Here  shall  ray  feet  abide; 

I  know  no  other  way. 
Be  thou,  O  Lord,  my  guide, 

Nor  let  my  footsteps  stray: 
Thy  love  to  me  shall  wonders  show, 
More  than  dull  atheists  ever  know. 

When  they  shall  shrink  and  die, 

And  sun  and  moon  decay; 
When  stars  shall  leave  the  sky, 

And  nature  melt  away; 
Not  Chance,  but  GOD  shall  have  the  praise, 
While  I  adore  His  wondrous  ways. 


THE  SPREAD  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 


A  VOICE  is  heard  in  distant  lands, 

And  Ethiop  stretches  forth  her  hands; 

She  waits  upon  the  living  God, 

And  spreads  his  gracious  name  abroad. 

Finland  the  Gospel-beams  has  felt; 

Siberia  too  begins  to  melt; 

And  Otaheite's  far  distant  isle, 

Is  favor'd  with  a  Savior's  smile. 

Russia  and  India  are  awake, 

And  of  the  Gospel  feast  partake: 

Why  should  our  nerves  be  yet  unstrung, 

When  these  of  Jesu's  love  have  sung? 


THE     SPREAD    OF    THE    GOSPEL.  61 

What  cheering  scenes  rise  to  our  view; 
How  pleasant  and  how  lively  too! 
We  feel  no  more  the  chilling  blast; 
For  winter's  frigid  reign  is  past! 
The  rain  is  over  now,  and  gone; 
We  feel  the  warm  and  quick'ning  sun; 
The  flowers  on  the  earth  appear, 
And  birds  lead  on  the  joyful  year. 
We  hear  the  turtle's  charming  voice, 
And  souls  in  Jesu's  love  rejoice; 
The  heavy  clouds  have  flown  away, 
And  darkness  yields  to  Gospel-day. 


Zion  extends  her  borders  too; 
The  landscape  widens  to  the  view; 
Her  converts  to  her  courts  repair, 
And  worship  God  with  holy  fear. 
Now  Salem's  harps  are  on  the  string, 
While  to  the  passing  breeze  they  fling 
Their  sweet  and  varied  melody, 
To  celebrate  the  One  in  Three. 
New  life  has  fill'd  both  east  and  west; 
They  fly  for  shelter  to  His  breast; 
They  find  the  new  and  living  way, 
Now  open  to  eternal  day. 
The  golden  chain,  let  from  above, 
Cemented  by  a  Savior's  love, 
Still  longer  grows,  and  must  embrace, 
The  whole  of  Adam's  fallen  race! 
Yes — bless  the  Lord! — it  reaches  now> 
From  Massachusetts  to  Moscow; 
6* 


62 


From  Labrador  to  Calcutta, 
Extends  the  blessed  Gospel  day. 
Where  e'er  is  heard  the  Gospel  sound, 
The  graces  flourish  and  abound; 
Heathens  revere  the  Christian's  name, 
Their  spirit,  hopes,  and  views,  the  same! 
O  may  they  all  together  grow, 
(A  building  fitly  framed  below,) 
Into  a  temple  of  the  Lord, 
And  find  in  him  their  vast  reward. 


LINES, 

Inscribed  to  the  memory  of  OTIIS  SHKETZ,  a  pious  and  useful 
member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  who  departed  this  life  De- 
cember llth,  1832,  near  Flushing,  Belmont  county,  Ohio. 

OTHO,  thou  friend  of  God  and  man,  adieu; 
With  tears  thy  "mystic  flight"  we  now  pursue; 
We  trace  thy  course  beyond  the  milky  way, 
Where  thou  shalt  shine  a  star  in  endless  day! 
Thou  wast  a  man  of  God. — The  heavenly  breath 
Had  rais'd  thy  soul  from  sense,  and  sin,  and  death; 
Thy  faith  was  brilliant,  and  thy  witness  bright, 
Of  joys  to  come,  and  heaven's  unfailing  light. 
Thy  soul  was  fraught  with  human  excellence, 
Benevolence,  philanthropy,  and  plain  good  sense; 
Let  Flushing  weep,  with  all  her  richest  store, 
For  Belmont  yields  such  pomp  for  death  no  more! 
Farewell,  dear  friend! — triumphant  in  thy  death, 
Thou  own'dst  thy  Savior  with  thy  latest  breath, 


O'o 


And  O,  thy  Savior  shall  acknowledge  thee 
His  lawful  heir;  and  thou  a  king  shalt  be! 
What  though  no  marble  marks  the  mournful  spot, 
Where  thou  shalt  be  in  future  years  forgot? 
Thy  name  stands  on  the  archives  of  the  sky; 
Thy  humble  worth  is  register'd  on  high! 
I  weep  for  thee;  but  O,  I  weep  with  hope; 
Thou  art,  before  thy  friends,  to  Christ  caught  up; 
Thou  hast  but  gone  a  little  while  before; 
We  soon  shall  hail  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore. 
Though  long  afflictions  mark'd  thy  latter  day, 
And  wore  the  comforts  of  thy  life  away, 
Thou  wast  not  comfortless;  for  pow'r  divine 
Appeared  upon  thy  happy  soul  to  shine! 
Ah,  had  mine  eyes  beheld  thy  dying  scene, 
Without  a  veil  of  flesh  to  intervene, 
What  seraphs  had  I  seen  around  thy  bed? 
What  forms  angelic  till  thy  spirit  fled! 
Adieu,  my  friend;  thou  hadst  a  safe  convoy 
From  racking  pains  to  everlasting  joy; 
Angels  convey'd  thee  on  their  golden  wings, 
And  now  thou  reignest  with  the  King  of  kings! 
No  wat'ry  humors  now  corrupt  thy  blood, 
Or  sap  the  juices  of  life's  tender  flood; 
But,  deck'd  with  youth,  immortal  vigor  now, 
Shall  bloom  forever  on  thy  deathless  brow! 
'Tis  true  —  thy  frame  is  laid  beneath  the  sod, 
Thy  soul's  gone  up  to  see  thy  Father  —  God; 
So  for  awhile  thy  spirit  is  disjoined 
From  that  frail  flesh,  which  thou  hast  left  behind: 
But  when  these  shadows  shall  have  flown  away, 
And  Gabriel's  trump  proclaims  the  judgment  day, 


64  LINES. 

i  hy  flesh,  sown  in  corruption,  shall  arise, 

And,  fronTall  dregs  refin'd,  ascend  the  skies. 

No  longer  wilt  thou  feel  the  dying  throe; 

For  thou  shalt  leave  mortality  below; 

Then  subtle  as  the  nimble  lightning's  fire, 

Thy  frame  shall  be  immortal  as  its  Sire! 

No  seeds  of  sickness,  sorrow,  pain,  or  death, 

So  thickly  scattered  in  the  world  beneath, 

Shall  find  a  place; — but  near  thy  Savior's  breast, 

In  his  eternal  glory  thou  shalt  rest. 

Hark!  'tis  the  judgment-tram})!     See — Jesus  comes! 

Death's  iron  sleep  is  broke!  rent  are  the  tombs! 

The  pious  dead  in  Christ  shall  first  arise; 

See! — Otho  bursts  the  tomb  and  mounts  the  skies! 

Immortal  hallelujahs  to  our  King! 

We  rise;  and  songs  of  triumph  we  shall  sing; 

The  righteous  shall  not  always  sleep  below; 

It  was  thy  wisdom,  Lord,  that  made  it  so! 

Widow!  bereft  of  comfort  the  most  dear, 

Of  him  whom  next  to  God  thou  loved'st  here; 

Check  sorrow's  flood,  impatient  of  restraint; 

Thy  Otho  lives  and  shines  a  deathless  saint! 

Or,  if  thou  still  must  grieve,  O  be  resign 'd; 

His  Father  to  thy  children  will  be  kind; 

A  husband  He  to  widows  in  distress; 

A  father  to  the  child  that's  fatherless! 

Children!    Thy  father  waits  for  thee  above; 

He  waits  to  clasp  thee  in  the  arms  of  love; 

O  choose  his  God  and  make  his  portion  thine; 

Then  thou  shalt  say,  "The  kingdom  too  is  mine!" 

Till  then  in  hope  still  let  thy  spirit  rest; 

The  spirit  has  pronounc'd  thy  father  blest; 


THE    HAXGING    ROCKS.  63 

O  trace  his  steps; — his  num'rous  virtues  trace, 
Then  shalt  thou  see  thy  lather  face  to  face! 
Till  then,  dear  friend,  we  say — a  short  adieu; 
We  hope  to  rise  and  be  as  angels  too; 
Ere  long  the  Lord  shall  cleave  yon  azure  sky, 
And  take  us  up  to  join  our  friends  on  high. 
Come,  Lord,  and  throw  this  shattered  world  aside; 
O  send  thy  fiery  chariots  for  thy  bride; 
O  now  proclaim  the  long,  grand  jubilee, 
And  let  us  reign  in  heaven,  Lord,  with  Thee! 

Sic  Esto!     (So  be  it!) 


THE   HANGING  ROCKS. 

There  is  a  remarkable  and  stupendous  mass  of  rocks  on  the 
South  Branch  of  Potomac,  in  Hampshire  county,  four  and  a  half 
miles  below  Romney,  called  "The  Hanging  Rocks,''  some  of  the 
highest  masses  of  which  appear  to  project  almost  immediately  over 
the  traveller's  head.  At  a  time  when  scattering  clouds  are  swiftly 
flying  over,  it  appears  as  if  those  rocks  were  about  to  be  precipitated 
on  your  head,  and  more  than  once  alarmed  the  author,  who  was 
not,  at  first,  aware  of  the  rapid  motion  of  the  clouds.  On  one  of 
those  occasions,  the  author's  fears,  on  reflection,  having  subsided> 
he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  fragments  below,  and  composed  the  fol. 
lowing  Stanzas: — 

GOD  of  nature!  how  tremendous 

Does  this  mass  of  rocks  appear? 
How  they  hang — a  work  stupendous — 

Balanced  in  the  yielding  air! 

What  detains  them  in  their  bases, 

With  the  pond'rous  part  above? 
Will  they  not  start  from  their  places? 

See!  their  tops  begin  to  move! 


66  THE. PLACE    OF    THE    SOUL. 

Be  not  frighted; — 'tis  the  motion 
Of  the  clouds  beneath  the  sky; 

They  are  traveling  to  the  ocean, 
Or  to  get  a  fresh  supply. 

They  will  bring  a  wat'ry  treasure, 
And  the  face  of  things  renew; 

Man,  look  on  these  scenes  with  pleasure; 
Rocks  and  clouds  were  form'd  for  you!* 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Go  ask  the  clay,  "Where  is  the  soul! 

The  mass  inactive  is  and  dead; 
The  limbs  no  more  its  acts  control;— 

Where  has  the  immortal  spirit  fled?" 

Go  ask  the  mourner  when  the  tear, 
Gushing  and  warm,  bedews  his  face; — 

"Where  is  the  soul? — It  is  not  here; 
Alas!  'tis  gone  to  its  own  place." 

Go  ask  the  envelope  of  wood, 

That  now  surrounds  the  house  of  clay; 

It  speaks  in  language  understood; — 
"The  vital  spark  has  passed  away!" 

Go  ask  the  solemn  lettered  bust^ — 

It  proudly  rises  o'er  the  grave; — 
It  speaks  aloud — "Vain  man  is  dust, 

And  none  from  death's  cold  grasp  can  save." 

*I  am  aware  that  Mr.  Pope  very  beautifully  contradicts  this  sen- 
timent, but  his  theory  is  as  false  as  His  language  is  pretty. 


DEFINITION    OF    THE    SOUL.  67 

The  sullen  marble  stands  alone, 

A  witness  of  the  stubborn  truth; — 
We  read  it  on  the  sculptur'd  stone, 

That  death  spares  neither  age  nor  youth. 

But  stone  nor  marble  tell  us  where 
The  deathless  soul  has  winged  its  flight: — 

Then  ask  the  worm  that  revels  there, 
In  that  abode  of  constant  night. 

r 

The  silent  worm  makes  no  reply;— 

Deaf  is  the  grass,  the  clay,  the  sod; — 
A  voice  from  Heaven  passes  by. 

Listen! — "The  soul  is  with  its  God!" 


DEFINITION  OF  THE  SOUL. 

What  is  the  soul — that  deathless  thing? 

Half-transcript  of  the  Deity? 
What  seraph  shall  its  essence  sing, 

Or  who  describe  its  form  to  me? 

It  is  all  life,  all  ear,  all  eye; 

Exquisite  feeling, — nice, — refined; 
Picture  of  immortality, 

Strange  offspring  of  the  eternal  mind! 


68  DEFINITION    OF    THE    SOUL. 

What  is  the  soul?— 'Tis  more  than  shade; 

It  is  a  substance  all  divine, 
(Which  death  itself  cannot  invade,) 

And  God  has  made  that  substance  mine! 

An  indestructible  machine, 

That  can,  and  does,  and  will  expand; 
Alone  by  deathless  vision  seen, 

Yet  living,  it  directs  my  hand! 

'Tis  capable  of  pain  and  grief, 

Hatred,  and  hope,  and  love,  and  joy; 

Perception,  scepticism,  belief; — 
But  cannot  its  owrn  self  destroy! 

It  has  that  strange  thing  we  call  will; — 
Possesses  self-determining  power; 

By  which  we  move,  sit,  or  stand  still, 
At  any  given  day  or  hour! 

It  acts  not  necessarily; 

For  this  its  Maker  ne'er  designed; 
It  is  in  its  volitions  free, 

A  copy  of  til*  Eternal  Mind! 

What  is  the  soul? — abuse  it  not, — 
It  is  an  all-tremendous  thing, 

Lest  when  confined  to  some  sad  spot, 
Thou  feel  an  everlasting  sting! 


69 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SUN. 

PARAPHRASED    FROM    OSSIAN. 

WHO  art  thou  of  golden  hue, 
Rolling  in  thy  bed  of  blue? 
Round  as  is  my  father's  shield, 
Whence  the  beams  that  thou  dost  yield? 
Whence  thy  everlasting  light, 
Scattering  all  the  shades  of  night? 
Coming  from  the  eastern  sky, 
In  thine  awful  majesty; 
Thy  full  beauties  quench  the  stars, 
And  the  moon  no  more  appears; 
Both,  as  conscious  of  thy  worth, 
Hide  their  dimmer  beams  from  earth. 
See  each  star  has  hid  its  head, 
Venus'  brighter  lamp  has  fled; 
And  the  moon  has  found  a  grave 
In  the  low,  blue  western  wave! 
Cold  and  pale,  there  must  she  lie, 
Till  the  evening  greets  the  sky. 
But  thou,  O  resplendent  sun, 
Movest  gloriously  alone; 
Who  shall  thy  companion  be 
In  the  heavens,  earth,  or  sea? 
Who  thy  journey  shall  attend, 
Or  say  when  thy  race  shall  end? 
See  the  oaks  prostrated  fall, 
Time,  or  tempests  ruin  all; 


70  ADDRESS    TO    THE   SUN. 

Mountains  too,  by  years,  decay, 

And  the  ocean  wastes  away; 

Or,  if  it  should  grow  again, 

As  the  moon  'tis  soon  in  wane. 

But  thou,  Sun,  art  still  the  same; 

Undiminished  is  thy  flame; 

Thou  rejoicest  in  thy  force, 

In  the  brightness  of  thy  course. 

When  the  world  grows  dark  with  storms, 

Nature's  all  sublimes t  forms; 

When  the  grumbling  thunders  roll, 

Striking  terror  to  the  soul; 

When  the  forked  lightnings  fly, 

And  proclaim  that  God  is  nigh; 

Then  thou  showest  thy  fair  form, 

And  thou  laughest  at  the  storm! 

But  thou  lookesi  forth  in  vain; 

For  thy  beams  renew  my  pain. 

Now  thou  tremblest  at  the  west, 

In  thy  lovely  golden  vest; 

But  no  more  thy  yellow  hair 

Calls  my  fixed  attention  there. 

Ah,  thou  art,  perhaps  like  me; 

Thou  shalt  for  a  season  be; 

In  a  wilderness  of  clouds, 

Gabriel's  call  thy  light  enshrouds. 

Careless  of  the  morning's  voice, 

Thou  no  longer  shalt  rejoice; 

Time  shall  seal  thy  last  long  sleep, 

In  eternity's  vast  deep! 


71 


SWIFTNESS   OF  TIME,  AND   CERTAINTY    OF 
DEATH. 


SWIFT  as  the  thread  wraps  round  the  reel, 
Swift  as  the  new  gear'd  spinning  wheel; 
Swift  as  an  eagle  in  the  skies, 
Swift  as  the  Indian  arrow  flies; 
Swift  as  the  shuttle  in  the  loom, 
So  swift  we  travel  to  the  tomb! 
Swift  as  the  falling  drops  of  rain, 
Swift  as  the  billows  on  the  main; 
Swift  as  the  ship  sails  on  the  sea, 
Swift  as  she  turns  about  to  lee; 
Swift  as  the  mounting  paper  kite, 
So  swift  shall  we  be  out  of  sight; 
Swift  as  the  blush  of  morning's  dawn, 
Swift  as  the  streaks  of  day  come  on; 
Swift  as  the  visions  round  my  bed, 
Swift  as  the  dream  that  leaves  my  head; 
Swift  as  the  cat  leaps  on  its  prey, 
So  swift  shall  death  bear  us  away! 
Swift  as  the  misty  vapor  flies, 
Swift  as  its  gloom  o'erspreads  the  skies; 
Swift  as  the  bltistry  winds  are  o'er, 
Swift  as  the  tempests  cease  to  roar, 
Swift  as  the  rainbow  spans  the  sky, 
So  swift  may  we  be  called  to  die! 
Swift  as  the  sun  speeds  on  his  flight, 
Swift  as  the  moon  we  saw  last  night; 


72  SWIFTNESS    OF    TIME. 

Swift  as  the  year  that  rolls  away, 
Swift  as  the  month,  the  week,  the  day, 
Swift  as  return  of  day  and  night, 
So  swift  we  wing  our  onward  flight! 
Swift  as  eternity  rolls  on, 
Swift  as  those  ages  long  by-gone; 
Swift  as  the  archangel's  trumpet's  sound, 
Swift  as  it  rends  the  gloom  profound; 
Swift  as  the  resurrection  day, 
So  swift  does  nature  pass  away! 
Swift  as  the  dead  in  myriads  rise, 
Swift  as  the  flames  ascend  the  skies; 
Swift  as  the  judgment  throne  is  set, 
Swift  as  we  hear — what's  not  heard  yet; 
Swift  as  we  know  our  future  doom, 
So  swift  we  all  are  going  home! 
Swift  as  we  hear  the  sound,  "depart," 
Swift  as  it  strikes  the  guilty  heart; 
Swift  as  the  tone  of  "Come,  ye  blest," 
Swift  as  we  enter  into  rest; 
Swift  as  the  pains  of  death  and  hell, 
So  swift,  if  good,  with  God  we'll  dwell! 
Swift  as  the  joys  of  heaven  roll, 
Swift  as  its  bliss  matures  my  soul; 
Swift  as  the  pangs  of  endless  woe, 
Swift  as  the  bad  to  hell  must  go; 
Swift  as  eternal  ages  fly, 
So  swift  will  saint  and  sinner  die! 
If  time  thus  swiftly  passes  on, 
If  we  so  swiftly  shall  be  gone; 
If  heaven  the  righteous  shall  obtain, 
If  hell's  designed  for  wicked  men; 
How  careful  should  I  always  be, 
That  I  may  reign,  my  God,  with  Thee! 


73 


FOR  THE  4th  DAY  OF  JULY,  1835. 

WITH  songs  of  exultation, 

We  praise  the  Savior's  name; 
The  sound  rings  through  the  nation, 

And  fans  the  sacred  flame: 
Tell,  tell,  the  hallowed  story, 

To  earth's  remotest  bound; 
Our  famed  ancestors'  glory 

Is  an  inspiring  sound. 

The  bright'ning  streaks  of  morning, 

Proclaim  the  approaching  day, 
Let  tyrants  take  the  warning, 

And  cast  their  crowns  away; 
For  lo,  the  tree  of  freedom 

Has  taken  a  deep  root, 
And  blessings,  as  we  need  them, 

From  her  fair  branches  shoot. 

Then  we  will  toast  our  sages, 

And  sing  of  Washington; 
While  to  the  end  of  ages, 

Their  bright'ning  names  shall  run; 
But  chiefly  we  will  praise  Him, 

Who  gave  our  nation  birth; 
An  anthem  we  will  raise  Him, 

Record  it,  heaven  and  earth! 


74 


A  black  man,  called  "Uncle  Joe"  by  the  children  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, used  to  drive  the  carryall,  night  and  morning,  into  and  out 
of  town;  but  the  writer  of  this  article,  having  missed  him  for  some 
weeks,  made  inquiry  what  had  become  of  "Uncle  Joe,"  when  he 
was  informed  that  "Uncle  Joe"  was  dead  and  buried!  This  occa- 
sion produced  the  following 

STANZAS. 

THE  carryall  comes  with  rumbling  speed, 

And  children  full  of  glee; 
But  in  the  field,  nor  on  the  road, 

Nor  down  the  lane  is  he! 

It  passes  and  repasses  too; 

They  go  so  merrily; 
But  in  the  mead  nor  on  the  lawn, 

Nor  in  the  cot  is  he! 

The  carryall  is  empty  now, 

No  more  of  Joe  I  see; — 
What  has  become  of  that  old  man, 

Who  drove  so  merrily? 

He  was  and  is;  but  now  is  not; — 

The  fate  of  all  you  see; — 
The  white  man  must  obey  the  call; — 

Death  call'd  him  secretly! 

We  are  to-day; — to-morrow  die; — 

The  call  may  come  for  me; 
But  O,  push  not  that  day  from  thought; — 

For  death  may  come  for  thee! 


75 


My  children,  think  on  old  Joe's  death, 
Though  in  full  health  you  be; 

You  cannot  say  when  is  the  time, 
The  hearse  may  come  for  thee! 


STANZAS, 

SACRED    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    MISS  A.  B*****fi 

IF  youth  could  turn  aside  the  shafts  of  death, 
Or  worth  intrinsic  blunt  the  fatal  dart; 

Angelica  had  still  prolonged  her  breath, 
To  solace  long  her  tender  parent's  heart! 

But  he  that  orders  all  things  for  the  best, 
Has  called  her  from  the  evil  yet  to  come; 

'Tis  well;  she  sooner  gains  her  heavenly  rest, 
And  earlier  bears  her  sheaves  rejoicing  home. 

Go  young  Angelica! — 'Tis  Jesus  calls; 

Go  share  the  glory  of  the  rising  day; 
For  immortality  shall  be  thy  walls,— 

A  house  impregnable  to  all  decay! 

Adieu; — thy  mortal  flesh  in  hope  shall  .rest; 

For  angels  watch  the  dark  and  clammy  sod; 
Until  in  beauty  all  immortal  drest, 

Thy  soul  and  body  both  return  to  God. 


76 

STANZAS, 

Sacred  to  tlie  memory  of  the  Rev.  JOHN  EMORY,  D.  D.  Bishop  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  who,  it  is  supposed,  was  killed  by 
being  thrown  from  his  barouche,  December  16th,  1835. 

"Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord.-*'    "Know  ye  not, 
that  a  great  man  hath  fallen  in  Israel  to-day?" — Bible. 

THE  herald  of  Jesus  is  gone  to  his  home, 
No  more  amid  peril  or  error  to  roam; — 
The  angel  blew  on  him  with  violent  breath; 
The  flash  of  his  eye  is  now  darken'd  in  death! 
The  sheen  of  his  armor  was  splendid  and  bright, 
'Twas  furbish'd  and  reeking  from  his  recent  fight; 
But  low  lies  his  sword,  and  his  cheeks  aie  all  pale; 
The  widows  of  Zion  are  loud  in  their  wail. 
Here  rests  a  great  warrior! — How  calm  his  repose! 
His  generous  toils  ere  the  year  have  their  close; 
He  sleeps  now  in  silence  with  that  sacred  band, 

Who  spent  their  own  lives  for  the  good  of  the  land. 

Though  winter  may  lower  awhile  o'er  his  tomb, 

The  warm  winds  shall  bring  the  full  spring  in  its  bloom; 

The  flowers  of  summer  their  branches  shall  wave 

O'er  those  hallowed  sods,  that  grow  green  near  his  grave. 

He  needs  not  the  marble  his  deeds  to  proclaim; 

His  hist'ry  alone  will  emblazon  his  name; 

And  high  is  the  niche  that  he  now  occupies, 

Though  no  sculptur'd  bronze  o'er  his  dust  should  arise. 

His  worth  lives  within  us — we  cherish  the  flame; 

Our  objects,  our  feelings  and  views  were  the  same; 

And  though  his  sun  set  in  a  halo  of  blood, 

The  winds  were  his  chariots  to  bear  him  to  God! 


Or  did  he  from  earth  and  its  turmoils  retire, 

As  one  did  of  old — in  a  chariot  of  fire? 

Those  steeds  have  now  cleft  the  ethereal  blue, 

And,  lo!  they  have  borne  him  up  far  from  our  view. 

Who  catches  his  mantle,  let  him  bind  it  fast, 

And  wear  it  around  his  own  breast  to  the  last; 

Thus  shall  our  Elishas  smite  Jordan's  cold  flood, 

And,  like  him,  pass  over  and  dwell  with  his  God! 

Hail  Em'ry!  The  harps  of  fair  Salem  shall  ring, 

And  through  the  wide  heavens  their  melodies  fling; 

On  each  passing  breeze  shall  the  harmony  fly, 

And  notes  all  symphonious  shall  float  through  the  sky! 

The  echoes  of  heaven  the  theme  shall  prolong, 

And  roll  back  the  chorus  in  eternal  song; 

Glad  angels  shall  greet  thee,  and  hymns  they  shall  sing, 

And  hail  the  rich  trophies  of  heaven's  bright  King! 

O  man  greatly  honored!  to  earth  unconfin'd; 

Though  thou  hast  left  wife,  friends,  and  children  behind, 

We  part  not  forever; — by  heaven's  own  light, 

We  see  that  bright  morning  when  we  shall  unite! 

Thy  friends  press  to  meet  thee  in  raptures  unknown, 

And  long  shall  they  sing,  shine, and  shout  round  th'  throne; 

The  praise  of  the  whole  shall  to  Jesus  belong; 

For  he  is  the  burden  of  ev'ry  saint's  song! 

Rest  then,  my  dear  brother,  until  that  bright  day, 

When  Gabriel's  loud  trump  shall  give  life  to  thy  clay; 

Then  shalt  thou  immortal  in  vigor  arise, 

And  meet  all  thy  friends  and  thy  God  in  the  skies. 

Repine  not,  'reft  widow  and  children; — resign 

Thy  husband  and  father  to  hands  so  divine; 

The  trump  in  the  morning  will  bid  him  to  rise, 

And  then  thou  shalt  greet  him  with  loving  surprise. 


78 


THE  RICH  MAN  AND  THE  POOR  MAN 

CONTRASTED.* 
'•"4ft 

FLATUS,  the  good,  the  great,  is  dead; — 
See,  all  the  tears  of  sorrow  shed; 
Too  much  of  him  cannot  be  said — 

He  was  a  rich  man! 

Extol  his  virtues  to  the  sky; 

His  memory  lives — he  cannot  die; — 

Say  what  you  please  you  cannot  lie! 

He  was  a  rich  man! 

The  neighbors  all  will  mingle  tears, 
With  those  of  the  surviving  heirs; — 
He's  gone!  he's  gone  beyond  the  spheres — 

He  was  a  rich  man! 

He  was  a  kind  and  tender  mate; 
His  social  virtues  too  were  great; 
His  neighbors  can  his  merits  state — 

He  was  a  rich  man! 

He  dies  lamented  much  by  all; 

Both  high  and  low  will  mourn  his  fall; 

In  short,  the  man  was  all  in  all; — 

He  was  a  rich  man! 


*  Composed  after  hearing  a  reverend  gentleman  preach  a  good 
poor  man's  funeral  discourse,  in  which  he  did  not  introduce  even 
the  man's  name!! 


THE    RICH    MAN   AND   THE    POOR   MAN.  79 

Our  Savior  says  the  rich  man  died, 
With  all  his  pageantry  and  pride; 
And  for  him  hell  is  open'd  wide; — 

The  scale  is  turn'd — man! 

He  lifts  his  eyes  in  torments  dire, 
In  that  eternal  world  of  fire. 
And  water  vainly  did  require; 

The  scale  is  turn'd — man! 

The  man  once  rich  is  now  so  poor, 

A  drink  alone  he  can't  procure; 

And  peace  and  joy  return  no  more; — 

Pray  for  the  rich — man! 

DIGNUS  is  gone! — It  matters  not; — 
Had  he  no  virtue? — not  a  jot! — 
He  scarcely  will  excite  a  thought — 

He  was  a  poor  man! 

Dare  not  one  word  of  him  to  say, 
Lest  you  offend  your  fellow-clay; — 
Go  bear  him  on  the  bier  away; — 

He  was  a  poor  man! 

He  has  no  heirs  to  mourn  his  fall; 
He  was  accounted  nought  by  all, 
Except  the  few  we  kinsfolk  call — 

He  was  a  poor  man! 

If  he  had  virtues,  let  them  be; 
They  nothing  were  to  you  or  me; — 
He  does  not  claim  our  sympathy; —  * 

He  was  a  poor  man! 


80  DEATH    MAKES    NO    DISTINCTION. 

He  dies  unnotic'd  and  unknown; 

His  head  now  rests  beneath — no  stone! 

There  is  the  e'nd — let  him  alone — 

He  was  a  poor  man! 

The  beggar  died — but  see  him  rise 
On  angel-wings  above  the  skies; 
And  there  the  Lord  his  wants  supplies; 

God  bless'd  the  poor  man! 

On  Abra'm's  breast  he  leans  his  head, 
And  feasts  upon  celestial  bread; 
He  lives!  he  lives!   He  is  not  dead! 

God  bless'd  the  poor  man! 

He  is  remov'd  from  ev'ry  pain, 
And  death  is  his  eternal  gain; 
With  God  he  shall  forever  reign; 

God  bless'd  the  poor  man! 


DEATH  MAKES  NO  DISTINCTION; 

Or,  the  state  of  the  pious  poor  man  preferable  to  the  condition  of 
the  impious  rich  man. 

Some  boast  of  their  possessions  great, 
And  all  the  pomp  and  pride  of  state; 
But  one  thing's  certain, — when  I  die, 
Few  will  possess  much  more  than  I. 
Confin'd  to  some  cold,  narrow  spot, 
Six  feet  of  earth  will  be  my  lot; 
While,  it  may  be,  just  by  my  side, 
The  rich  man  rots  with  all  his  pride! 


REASONS    WHY    I    HATE    THE    DRUM    AND    FIFE.      81 

With  boards  o'er  our  unconscious  clay, 
As  still  as  death  our  limbs  shall  lay, 
And  wither  in  the  silent  grave, 
The  common  lot  of  saint  and  knave! 
While  some  the  latter  eulogize, 
And  raise  the  villain  to  the  skies; 
It  may  be — God  alone  can  tell — 
Th'  immortal  spirit  groans  in  hell! 
The  saint  unnoticed,  turn#  to  dust; 
For  soon  forgotten  are  tin;  jn-t; 
Yet  he  is  register'd  on  high, 
Ami  swells  the  archives  of  the  sky! 
O  there  on  my  Redeemer's  breast, 
May  my  immortal  spirit  rest; 
Or  else  beneath  thy  feet,  dear  Lamb, 
To  sing  the  praises  of  thy  name! 


REASONS  WHY  I  HATE  THE  DRUM  AND  FIFE. 

I  HATE  the  drum's  hoarss  rumbling  sound, 
While  men  are  must'ring  round  arid  round; 
It  tells  of  kings  in  battle  slain, 
Who  ne'er  shall  wear  the  crown  again; 
Of  heroes  drenched  with  purple  gore, 
And  legions  that  shall  live  no  more; 
Of  widow's  tears,  and  orphan's  groans, 
Ami  dying  men  and  falling  thrones; 
Of  burning  towns  and  ravag'd  plains, 
And  mangled  limbs,  and  wounded  swains, 
Of  souls  without  a  shelter  found, 
Welt'ring  in  blood,  on  the  cold  ground, 
Without  a  friend  or  partner  near, 
To  close  their  eyes,  or  shed  a  tear, 
8 


82  EPITAPH    ON    A    WEAVER. 

To  soothe  their  agonizing  bed, 
Or  raise  their  faint  and  sickly  head; 
If  these  are  the  effects  of  war, 
Pray,  what  do  men  admire  it  for? 
I  hate  the  whistling  of  the  fife; 
*        It  speaks  the  miseries  of  life; 
It  tells  of  cities  that  are  razed, 
And  houses  that  have  fiercely  blazed; 
Of  wooden  legs,  and  limping  feet, 
And  a  whole  train  of  woes  complete; 
Of  glitt'ring  steel  and  furbish'd  swords, 
And  crested  kings,  and  haughty  lords; 
Of  minions  vile  and  tyrant's  slaves, 
And  deep  dug  pits,  instead  of  graves; 
Of  sufferings  in  all  their  forms, 
And  rotten  carcasses  and  worms; 
Of  noisome  stench  and  pestilence, 
That  hurries  its  ten  thousands  hence; 
Of  famine,  and  a  thousand  ills, 
And  surgeon's  knives,  and  doctor's  pills: 
If  these  be  the  effects  of  war, 
Pray,  what  do  men  admire  it  for? 


EPITAPH  ON  A  WEAVER. 

HERE  lies  a  weaver — He  has  left  the  loom, 
To  lie  alone  in  this  cold  darksome  tomb; 
His  warping  bars  are  useless;  for  his  woof 
Against  the  mighty  conqu'ror  was  not  proof: 
His  geers  are  rotten,  and  his  treadles  still; 
His  shuttles  all  are  thrown  to  their  last  quill: 
The  web  of  life's  cut  out  by  death's  sharp  hand, 
So  Grayham's  gone  to  see  some  unknown  land. 


S3 


JUDGMENT. 

SEE  the  starry  heavens  rending! 
See  the  Lord  of  life  descending! 

Hark,  the  trump  awakes  the  dead! 
See  the  saints  of  ev'ry  nation, 
Rise  with  joyful  acclamation, 

Hail  Him  their  triumphant  head! 

It  is  Jesus!  sinners,  fear  Him; 

'Tis  your  Savior!  saints,  draw  near  Him: 

See  the  prize  He  will  bestow: — 
Joys,  immortal,  life  eternal; 
Nor  can  all  the  pow'rs  infernal, 

Drag  your  ransom'd  souls  to  woe! 

See  the  great  white  throne  erected! 
He  who  was  on  earth  rejected, 

Now,  a  second  time  descends- 
Rapid  lightnings  play  before  Him; 
Let  the  ransom'd  all  adore  Him! 

Now  the  whole  creation  ends. 

Lo,  he  manifests  the  Savior 
To  the  subjects  of  his  favor; 

Come,  ye  blessed,  (hear  him  say,) 
Lo!  I  come  for  your  salvation; — 
Bid  adieu  to  tribulation; — 

I  will  wipe  your  tears  away. 


84  GO — READ    THE    BIBLE. 

Now  they  enter  into  glory; 
Hear  them  tell  the  pleasing  story 

Of  salvation  in  the  Lord: 
Hark!  the  blissful  seats  of  heaven, 
Loud  resound  with  sins  forgiven; 

Hail,  thou  great  incarnate  word! 

Hail!  ye  happy,  happy  spirits! 
Life  eternal  each  inherits: 

Sound  the  praises  of  his  name; 
Sons  of  earth  join  in  the  chorus; 
For  the  precious  scenes  before  us, 

Hallelujahs  to  the  Lamb! 

Join  us  all  ye  heav'nly  powers; 
For  this  blessed  God  is  ours;— 

Bid  the  tuneful  anthem  roll, 
Still  with  prayer  our  praises  blending, 
Till  his  grace  in  streams  descending, 

Flows  through  ev'ry  blood-bought  soul! 

For  His  love  let  rocks  and  mountains, 
Purling  streams  and  chrystal  fountains, 

Join  the  heart  inspiring  theme! 
Hallelujah!  saints  adore  Him; 
Love  Him;  rev'rence,  bow  before  Him; 

Praise,  all  praise  belongs  to  Him! 


GO— READ  THE  BIBLE! 
Go — read  the  Bible: — there  we  see 
A  portrait  of  the  Deity, 
Drawn  by  his  own  unerring  hand, 
So  he  that  reads  may  understand. 


GO — READ    THE    BIBLE.  85 

And  there,  to  our  amaze,  we  find 
The  circle  of  th'  Eternal  Mind, 
Enfolding  and  embracing  all 
His  grand  designs,  ere  Adam's  fall! 
But  in  Eternity's  recess, 
We  are  not  fill'd  with  wonder  less, 
To  see  Jehovah,  on  his  throne, 
Live  independent  and  alone; 
Before  his  mighty  plastic  hand. 
Had  made  the  seas  or  forrn'd  the  land; 
Or  ere  creative  energy, 
Had  bade  ten  thousand  systems  be? 
There  we  see  heav'n,  although  so  bright, 
Dark  with  his  own  excessive  light; 
And  angels  from  that  glory  driv'n 
By  flaming  vengeance  hurl'd  from  heav'n. 
Go — read  the  Bible;  there  we  see 
The  world  as  yet  in  infancy; 
Nor  bird,  nor  beast,  nor  plant  is  found, 
Nor  any  man  to  till  the  ground. 
All  is  a  dry  and  barren  land, 
As  naked  as  Arabia's  sand; 
The  earth  is  void  of  pleasing  green, 
And  nought  but  light  adorns  the  scene. 
He  speaks: — the  landscape  now  appears; 
A  smiling  face  creation  wears; 
Spring,  summer,  winter,  and  the  fall,     . 
Unite  their  various  beauties  all; 
Still  all  is  silent  to  the  ear; 
No  humming  insects  flutter  near; 
When  lo,  the  sea,  the  air,  the  earth, 
All  start  as  into  second  birth! 
8* 


86  A    YOUNG    MAN    IN    WOMEN'S    CLOTHES. 

What  songs  burst  from  each  verdant  grove; 

What  hymns  of  praise!  what  tunes  of  love! 

While  earth  abounds  with  crawling  worms, 

And  life  in  all  its  thousand  forms! . 

Go — read  the  Bible;  there  we  see, 

That  man  offended  Deity; 

And  how,  by  his  atrocious  fall, 

He  brought  a  curse  upon  us  all. 

Go — read  the  Bible;  there  we  see 

A  gracious,  sacred  mystery; — 

A  holy  and  incarnate  God, 

Allied  to  man— a  living  clod! 

See  there — a  proof  of  love  Divine — 

He  gave  his  life  for  yours  and  mine; 

And  then  ascended  up  on  high, 

Where  now  he  lives  no  more  to  die. 

Then  let  us  raise  a  holy  song, 

To  him  divinest  strains  belong, 

To  celebrate  the  God  of  love, 

Who  thus  pours  blessings  from  above. 

O  let  me  love  my  Bible  more, 

And  feel  its  soul-transforming  pow'r; 

Till  I  am  rais'd,  by  grace  divine, 

To  count  its  holy  triumphs  mine! 

Sic  esto! 


ON    SEEING    A    YOUNG    MAN    DRESS  D    IN    WOMEN  9 
CLOTHES. 

How  change  both  men  and  manners!  the  women  small- 
clothes wear; 

And  men  now  wear  the  petticoat — to  imitate  the  fair; 
But  as  the  fashions  alter,  times  may,  perhaps,  so  change, 
That  to  next  generation  it  will  not  seem  so  strange! 


87 


THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED    ON  THE    FALL  OF 
THE  LEAVES. 

SEE  the  leaves  around  us  falling, 

On  the  ground  they  wither'd  lie; 
To  each  thoughtless  mortal  calling, 

"You,  alas!  must  shortly  die. 

But  there  is  a  fairer  region, 

Where  the  trees  for  ever  bloom; 
Honor,  virtue,  and  religion, 

Ne'er  decline  beyond  the  tomb. 

There  there  is  a  year  eternal, 

Far  more  brilliant  than  the  rose; 
Blooming  beauty,  verdant,  vernal, 

Never,  never  shall  it  close. 

There  no  frosts  or  chilling  weather, 
Shall  the  fruits  or  blossoms  blight; 

But  near  Jesu's  breast  together, 
Flourish  in  unfading  light. 

Thus,  O  man!  the  spring  returning, 

Shall  renew  thy  wasting  bloom; 
See  the  emblems  of  that  morning, 

When  thy  dust  shall  leave  the  tomb. 

Then  arise;  put  on  thy  beauty; 

For  that  fadeless  kingdom  strive; 
Love  thy  God  and  follow  duty; 

Thus  the  plants  of  Eden  thrive. 


FALL    OF    THE    LEAVES. 

All  below  is  frail  and  fickle; 

Old  and  young  drop  in  the  grave; 
Soon  the  angels,  with  the  sickle, 

Will  the  mighty  harvest  save." 

Then,  O  man,  regard  the  warning; 

Be  Jehovah  all  your  trust, 
So  in  that  important  morning, 

When  you  leave  your  bed  of  dust,— - 

Quicken'd  by  th'  eternal  spirit, 

You  shall  to  that  Eden  rise, 
And  with  all  the  good  inherit 

Life  eternal  in  the  skies. 

(Then  the  line  of  demarkation, 
Will  be  by  the  Savior  drawn; 

Darkness,  death,  and  desolation, 
Meet  the  thoughtless — every  one! 

O  be  careful,  lest  thy  station, 
In  that  doleful  place  should  be, 

Where  the  light  of  his  salvation, 
Ne'er  shall  shed  its  beams  on  thee: 

As  the  leaves  now  fall  for  ever, 

Take  heed  lest  thou,  thus  should'st  fall, 
If  thou  shouldest  lose  thy  Savior, 

Know,  O  man,  thou  losest  all!) 


89 


"LORD,  IF  IT  BE  THEE,  BID  ME  COME  TO  THEE 
ON  THE  WATER!" 

THE  Teaming  billows  swell; 

The  waters  loudly  roar, 
The  tempest's  dismal  yell 

Proclaims  I'm  far  from  shore; 
Or  soon  shall  on  some  rock  be  cast, 
Where  all  my  hopes  shall  sink  at  last. 

0  have  I  lost  my  guide, 
Or  am  I  near  no  bay, 

That  I  so  roughly  ride, 

On  such  a  raging  sea? 
Reach  out  thine  arm,  O  Lord,  I  cry; 
Save,  or  I  sink,  I  fail,  I  die! 

Lord,  if  it  should  be  thee, 

Bid  me  walk  on  the  wave; 
Tell  me  to  come  to  thee; 

Thou  still  hast  pow'r  to  save; 
Then,  though  the  billows  should  run  high, 

1  cannot  perish  with  thee  nigh! 

Alas,  I  have  no  skill; 

Thou  my  good  pilot  art, 
New-mould  my  stubborn  will, 

And  subjugate  my  heart; 
Thus  when  the  storm  shall  highest  rise, 
I  shall  be  nearest  to  the  skies. 


90  A    PRESENT    PROSPECT  OF    FUTURE  BLISS. 

0  for  a  heavenly  gale, 
To  waft  my  vessel  on; 

Then  will  I  spread  all  sail, 
And  hasten  to  be  gone; 

1  long  to  reach  a  broader  bay, 
Where  moor'd  the  ships  of  heaven  lay. 

But  Lord,  I  shall  be  lost, 

Unless  Thou  be  my  guide; 
While  cruising  on  life's  coast, 

O  keep  me  near  thy  side; 
And  if  I  gain  that  peaceful  shore, 
I'll  praise  my  pilot  evermore! 


A  PRESENT  PROSPECT  OF  FUTURE  BLISS. 

I  SEE  the  crown  afar, 

It  glitters  through  the  sky; 
Faith  brings  the  promis'd  kingdom  near, 

And  all  my  murmurs  die. 

My  soul  is  happy  now, 

And  Jesus  bids  me  come; 
The  victor's  wreathe  shall  clothe  my  brow; 

For  grace  will  bring  me  home! 

What  is  far  better  still, 

With  Jesus  [  shall  be, 
Who,  by  His  last,  and  dying  will, 

Bequeath'd  this  bliss  to  me! 

With  all  niy  friends  above, 

I'll  meet  before  His  throne, 
And  shout  the  triumphs  of  His  love, 

While  endless  ages  run. 


91 


REDEMPTION. 

PRAISE  ye  the  Lord,  ye  globes  of  light, 
That  sparkle  near  His  shining  throne; 

And  with  your  beams-  divinely  bright, 
Proclaim  the  wonders  He  hath  done. 

Twas  He  who  formed  your  noble  fires, 
And  bade  you  in  such  order  shine; 

In  vain  my  ravish'd  soul  aapires, 
To  strike  a  note  that's  more  divine. 

In  vain? — my  soul  recall  the  word; 

Diviner  strains  I  dare  assume; 
I  sing  the  vict'ries  of  the  Lord, 

Who  triumph'd  o'er  the  teeming  tomb! 

Yes;  He  who  formed  those  azure  skies; 

And  bade  those  massy  planets  roll, 
For  man,  His  favorite  creature  dies, 

And  thus  rescues  his  fallen  soul. 

Jesus,  the  Father's  only  son, 

Left  those  fair  scenes  of  bliss  above; 

He  suffer'd  for  the  crimes  we've  done, 
That  we  might  taste  his  Father's  love. 

When  we  had  forfeited  all  right 

To  thrones,  and  crowns,  and  joys  on  high, 
It  then  seem'd  good  in  Jesu's  sight, 

That  God  should  give  him  up  to  die. 


92  HEAVEN    PERMANENT. 

On  Calvary's  most  tragic  brow, 
Behold  thy  God,  thy  Savior  hang; 

He  bows  his  head — 'tis  finish'd  now, 
And  nature  owns  his  final  pang! 

But  now  a  new  and  living  way, 
Is  open'd  to  the  realms  above; 

Be  this  my  song:  let  morn's  first  ray, 
And  eve's  departure  sing  His  love. 

Adore,  my  soul,  adore  the  grace; 

Go;  spread  thy  wants  and  woes  abroad; 
However  sad  may  be  thy  case, 

'Twill  gain  redress  from  thy  good  God. 


_ 

HEAVEN  PERMANENT. 

AN   ECHO    TO   MOORE'S    HEAVEN. 

THIS  life  is  but  an  empty  show. 

Though  for  good  purpose  given; 
But  in  that  world  to  which  we  go, 
Our  happiness  no  change  shall  know: 

We  call  that  country  heaven. 

Comforts  decline  and  creatures  die; 

Our  friends  are  from  us  riven; 
But  there's  a  brighter  scene  on  high; 
Thither  we  often  lift  an  eye, 

And  wish  and  long  for  heaven! 


HEAVEN    PERMANENT.  93 

Our  highest  pleasures  soon  will  pall, 

Or  soon  from  us  are  riven; 
All  things  are  tott'ring  to  their  fall; 
Oblivion  will  entomb  us  all; 

Nothing  endures  but  heaven!  ( 

Heroes  and  kings  contend  for  fame; 

Their  prospects  all  are  riven; 
They  fade  and  die  without  a  name; 
For  earthly  glory  is  a  flame 

That  dies — in  sight  of  heaven! 

Riches  take  wings — how  soon  they  fly? 

Honors  are  from  us  riven; 
Soon  as  those  phantoms  strike  the  eye, 
Their  richest  colors  fade — they  die, 

And  leave  no  hope  but  heaven! 

Here  we  are  worn  by  carking  cares, 

From  point  to  point  still  driven; 
But  we  will  bid  adieu  to  fears, 
And  live  to  everlasting  years, 

Secure  with  God  in  heaven. 

Then  let  those  scenes  all  roll  away, 

Earth,  sea,  and  sky,  be  riven; 
Let  comets  burn  and  lightnings  play; 
We  hope  to  see  that  awful  day, 

And  live  with  God  in  heaven. 

The  works  of  art  shall  all  expire, 

And  nature's  form  be  riven; 
But  in  that  universal  fire, 
Our  souls  shall  join  th'  angelic  choir, 

And  sing  to  God  in  heaven. 

9 


94  A  WELCOME. 

Though  from  the  centre  to  the  pole, 

Created  things  are  riven; 
Though  loud  tremendous  thunders  roll, 
Convulsions  cannot  shake  the  soul, 
That  lives  with  God  in  heaven. 

Then  come,  Thou  great  deliv'rer,  come; 

For  thou  the  word  hast  given; 
This  vale  of  tears  is  not  my  home; 
O  let  my  feet  no  longer  roam, 

But  take  me  up  to  heaven! 


WELCOME    TO    Mr.   D.    A*******G'S    FAMILY 
INTO  THIS  COUNTRY  FROM  IRELAND. 

WELCOME  to  our  peaceful  land, 

Thee  I  give  my  heart  and  hand; 

Greet  thee  on  thy  passage  here, 

To  thy  friends  and  kindred  dear. 

Here,  as  brothers,  we  agree, 

All  are  on  equality; 

Riches  no  distinction  make; 

We  love  men  for  merit's  sake. 

We  abhor  the  pomp  of  kings; 

Earls  and  dukes  are  useless  things;        ^ 

Discords  wild,  and  jarrings  cease; 

For  we  all  are  "Friends  of  Peace." 

Piety,  benevolence, 

Love  of  man  and  common  sense, 


A    WELCO.MK.  95 

Are  the  blessings  we  most  prize; 

We  the  narrow  soul  despise. 

Welcome,  emigrants,  we  say, 

Welcome  to,  America; 

Sit  beneath  our  peaceful  vine, 

Drink  our  cheering,  native  wine. 

No  incendiary  vile 

Shall  thy  property  despoil, 

Burn  thy  mansion  of  repose, 

For  we  feel  a  brother's  woes. 

Welcome  with  thy  partner  dear, 

To  the  various  comforts  here; 

Welcome  to  the  asylum 

Which  affords  th*  oppressed  a  home. 

Welcome  with  thy  family, 

From  the  gripe  of  tyranny; 

Welcome  twice  ten  thousand  more, 

To  our  hospitable  shore! 

Here  no  hostile,  servile  band; 

Dare  oppress  our  happy  land; 

For  we  are  republican, 

And  esteem  the  rights  of  man. 

Heavens,  bring  the  hour  near, 

When  poor  Erin  shall  appear, 

Strong  to  deal  the  mighty  blow, 

That  shall  blast  th'  insulting  foe! 

Gracious  Lord,  we  pray  Thee,  smile 

On  my  father's  native  Isle; 

Aid  her  in  a  righteous  cause, 

Free  her  from  oppressive  laws. 

On  a  basis  firm,  may  she 

E'er  maintain  true  liberty, 

Till  her  banner,  wide  unfurPd; 

Waves  in  triumph  through  the  world. 


DEDICATION  OF  THE  M.  E.  CHURCH,  IN 
S****G****D,  H.  C.  VA. 

HERE  may  the  Great  Jehovah  dwell, 
And  make  this  house  His  own  abode; 

His  love  inspire  our  hearts,  to  tell 
The  boundless  goodness  of  our  God. 

Since  thou  hast  giv'n  Thy  people  heart, 

To  fit  for  God  a  sacred  house; 
Do  thou,  O  Lord,  to  them  impart 

A  heart  to  render  thee  their  vows. 

Establish  all  thy  children  here, 

Upon  the  apostolic  plan; 
May  faith,  benevolence  sincere 

By  them  be  shown  to  God  and  man! 

May  love  and  unity  abound, 

And  each  in  sentiment  agree; 
While  all  combine  to  shed  around; 

Religion's  sacred  mystery. 

May  crowds  of  souls  disconsolate, 
With  willing  steps  thy  courts  attend, 

And  in  thy  gracious  presence  wait, 

Till  thou  shalt  show  thyself  their  friend, 

O  let  the  sacred  flame  revive, 

The  fire  of  pure  celestial  love; 
Wound,  kill  our  souls,  and  make  alive, 

And  comfort  us,  thou  Holy  Dove! 


A    BACKSLIDER    DESCRIBED.  97 

Let  Jesu's  name,  as  ointment,  shed 

Its  heavenly  fragrance  through  the  place, 

And  those  who  now  are  cold  and  dead, 
Feel  the  enlivening  beams  of  grace. 

Lord,  quicken  all  our  sluggish  souls, 
And  point  our  minds,  and  lead  the  way, 

To  scenes  where  endless  glory  rolls, 
To  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Thus  cheerfully  we'll  pass  our  days, 
And  fearless  cross  cold  Jordan's  flood; 

Our  business  here  be  prayer,  and  praise 
Our  pleasure,  till  we  see  our  God. 


THE  MELANCHOLY    STATE   OF    A  BACKSLI- 
PER  DESCRIBED. 


INTOXICATING  joys  of  sense, 
How  dost  thou  wound  the  mind, 

And  with  all  nobler  joys  dispense, 
To  leave  a  sting  behind! 

When  frantic  reyels  fill  the  brain, 

How  dark  is  all  within? 
The  immortal  soul's  the  seat  of  pain, 

Of  restlessness  and  sin! 

From  senseless  scene  to  scene  we  go, 

And  by  impure  desire, 
Bring  on  ourselves  a  mass  of  woe, 

And  feed  unhallowed  fire. 

9* 


98  A    BACKSLIDER    DESCRIBED. 

Our  lives,  tho'  stained  with  grossest  sins, 

Our  eyes  refuse  to  see; 
We  often  draw  in  fairest  lines, 

Our  foul  idolatry. 

We  shut  our  ears  against  the  voice 

Of  God  and  reason  too, 
With  thousands  make  a  foolish  choice, 

Nor  once  our  way  review. 

We  see  ourselves  through  light  divine, 
But  love  the  world  so  well, 

We  would  not  cast  off  one  small  sin, 
To  save  our  souls  from  hell. 


The  thunders  of  Jehovah's  pow'r 

We  hear,  but  disregard; 
For  though  we  hear,  in  that  same  hour, 

We  sin  against  the  Lord! 

If  fearful  judgments  stalk  around, 

Our  souls  are  so  deprav'd, 
We  do  not  tremble  at  the  sound, 

Nor  care  if  lost  or  saved! 

With  awfully  gigantic  stride, 

We  walk  the  paths  to  hell; 
And  though  its  gates  are  opened  wide, 

Cry  out,  "I  hope  all's  well!" 

If  once  we  lift  our  hearts  to  God, 

'Tis  when  afflictions  press; 
And  oft  we  spread  our  hands  abroad, 

When  under  some  distress. 


A    BACKSLIDER    DESCRIBED. 

But  straightway  we  in  sin  go  on, 
With  an  increased  delight, 

And  into  greater  mischiefs  run, 
And  sin  with  all  our  might. 

Who  can  describe  the  awful  case 
In  which  backsliders  rest? 

Immortal  hatred  to  God's  ways, 
Reigns  in  the  fallen  breast. 

PART    III. 

Such  was  my  case,  till  grace  divine, 
Beam'd  through  my  unclean  cage; 
I  felt,  I  own'd  the  pow'r  was  thine, 
v  That  freed  from  Satan's  rage. 

Then  let  me  celebrate  thy  praise, 
With  ev'ry  fleeting  breath, 

Proclaim  the  mercy  of  thy  ways, 
And  sing  thy  name  in  death. 

Great  God,  be  endless  praise  to  thee, 

By  all  the  human  race: 
Thy  goodness  fills  immensity, 

And  shines  in  ev'ry  place. 

Thy  mercy  is  as  deep  as  hell, 
High  as  the  heav'ns  above; 

Thy  boundless  pity  none  can  tell; 
For  God  is  only  love. 

He's  love;  He's  love;  let  every  heart, 
In  this  sweet  strain  engage; 

To  sing  his  love,  be  this  my  part, 
Through  all  my  pilgrimage! 


100 


But  soon  I  hope  to  quit  my  clay, 
And  soar  to  worlds  above, 

And  sing  in  an  eternal  lay, 
"Jesus,  my  God,  is  love." 


TIME. 

TIME  flies  on  swift,  but  silent  wings; 

How  fast  the  moments  roll! 
They  speak  the  most  important  things 

To  ev'ry  careless  soul: 

"Down  to  the  trackless,  vast  abyss, 
Where  days  are  known  no  more; 

But  clouds  conceal  from  mortal  eyes, 
Those  depths  without  a  shore:" 

"Thither  the  sons  of  men  we  bear, 
With  each  succeeding  breath; 

And  soon  the  stoutest  may  prepare 
To  meet  the  stroke  of  death.'1 

Ye  heedless  souls,  their  voice  regard; 

'Tis  heaven  speaks  to  you; 
Now  bow  before  your  gracious  Lord, 

And  give  him  glory  due. 

'Tis  he  prolongs  our  guilty  days, 
And  bids  our  moments  run; 

Else,  to  his  name  be  all  the  praise, 
Our  souls  had  been  undone. 


101 


THE  JUDGMENT. 

ERE  long  the  trump  of  God  shall  sound, 

And  bid  the  nations  rise; 
Unnumbered  millions  under  ground, 

Shall  then  ascend  the  skies. 

The  heav'ns  shall  bow  and  earth  expire, 

The  stars  shall  disappear; 
For  God  shall  send  a  general  fire; 

And  ruin  all  things  here. 
. 
The  sun  shall  into  darkness  turn, 

Nor  give  his  wonted  light; 
The  moon  in  bloody  vestments  mourn 

Her  loss  of  paler  light. 

The  hidden  deeds  of  sin  and  shame 
Shall  then  be  brought  to  view, 

And  all  the  lovers  of  the  Lamb, 
Be  safe  and  happy  too. 

But  O,  what  anguish  and  despair 
Shall  seize  the  guilty  breast, 

Deep -loaded  with  reproach  and  fear, 
And  banish'd  far  from  rest. 

Far  in  those  deeps  where  vengeance  reigns. 

And  fiery  billows  roar, 
He  waits  for  everlasting  pains, 

When  time  shall  bo  no  morn.! 

• 


102 


AN  EPISTLE    TO  M*****L   J**N    P***R. 

REFLECTIONS  AND  ADVICE  ON  TRUST  IN  PROVIDENCE. 

WITH  cautious  eye  the  world  regard, 
Nor  murmur  that  your  lot  is  hard; 
O  never  raise  your  hopes  too  high, 
Or  build  on  aught  beneath  the  sky. 
All  is  not  fair  that  seems  so  pure; 
There's  nothing  here  firm  or  secure; 
But  oft  when  we  expect  delight, 
The  gilded  toy  eludes  our  sight. 
For  disappointments  never  grieve; 
We  make  them:  shall  we  not  receive? 
Why  should  we  be  so  mortified 
By  our  own  folly,  or  our  pride? 
Our  passions  too,  inflict  a  sore, 
An  evil  we  can  scarce  endure; 
Pride,  folly,  passion,  all  combine 
To  prove  we  need  the  aid  divine. 
Man  was  not  made  to  order  all, 
Or  make  the  winds  obey  his  call; 
Although  he  has  a  spacious  soul, 
Yet  grace  must  rectify  the  whole, 
Or  sad  disorder  will  ensue, 
And  we  shall  lose  our  proper  clue; 
And,  what  is  not  a  little  thin£, 
Passion  and  pride  inflict  their  sting. 
We  never  should  be  much  elate, 
With  any  prospect  of  our  state; 


AN    EPISTLE  103 

For  this  will  give  a  sharper  pang, 
To  hearts  that  on  the  creature  hang. 
Trust  not  to  friends,  though  all  may  smile; 
These  may  allure  you  for  awhile; 
Beneath  those  smiles  a  heart  may  lie, 
That  braves  the  sweetest,  tend'rcst  tie! 
Trust  not  professions;'^  tbese  are  vain, 
And  only  give  more  pungent  pain; 
Men's  fairest  words  and  warmest  vows, 
Will  only  deeper  pangs  arouse: 
Professions,  friends,  and  smiles  will  fly 
Whene'er  a  threat'ning  storm  is  nigh; 
They  seek  a  cloudless  atmosphere, 
And  chiefly  love  to  revel  there! 
Remember  this  is  but  a  state 
That  never  is,  but  would  bo  great; 
Hence,  there  is  a  perpetual  strife, 
Between  a  high  and  humble  life. 
Would  you  ascend?    Then  have  due  care 
You  are  not  drawn  into  a  snare; 
For  Vice  can  never  bear  to  see, 
A  man  as  great  as  she  would  be. 
A  middle  state  is  far  the  best 
For  those  who  would  enjoy  true  rest; 
For  wealth  is  fraught  with  cank'ring  care, 
And  often  leads  to  fell  despair. 
The  stem,  from  whence  our  comforts  shoot, 
Conceals  a  worm  beneath  its  root; 
And  riches  are  an  airy  thing, 
That  seem  forever  on  the  wing. 
This  world  is  but  a  boist'rous  sea, 
Where  many  would  your  pilot  be; 


104  AN   EPISTLE. 

But  never  trust  to  more  than  one, 

And  let  that  one  be  God  alone. 

In  times  when  difficulties  rise, 

When  you  can  see  no  shore,  no  skies; 

No  trouble  can  your  soul  o'erwhelm, 

If  God  should  but  conduct  the  helm. 

Never  distrust  his  guardian  care; 

He  is  a  helper  ever  near: 

Draw  in  your  canvas  from  the  gale, 

And  then  you  may  in  safety  sail. 

No  anxious  thoughts  retain:  be  still, 

And  wait  the  issue  of  his  will; 

He  will  provide: — He  wants  no  friend, 

Who  on  his  succor  doth  depend. 

That  God  who  gave  to  men  their  birth, 

Whose  broad  eye  covers  all  the  earth, 

Will  all  his  erring  creatures  feed, 

And  he  knows  best  the  things  we  need. 

'Twas  He  who  form'd  us  in  the  womb, 

And  he  will  guide  us  to  the  tomb; 

Then,  rather  than  distrust  his  care, 

Let  us  an  Ebenezer  rear. 

He  may  not  give  us  all  we  would; 

He  sees  it  is  not  for  our  good; 

Perhaps  the  gift  we  might  abuse, 

Or  put  it  to  improper  use; 

Enhance  our  guilt,  and  find  at  length, 

Like  Samson,  we  are  shorn  of  strength: 

Besides,  we  might  more  proud  become, 

And  thus,  forever,  fix  our  doom! 

If  all  our  hairs,  which  are  so  small, 

Are,  through  his  goodness,  numberM  all, 


SHORTNESS    OF    HUMAN    LIFE.  105 

Who  then  can  doubt  but  what  we  are 
The  objects  of  his  special  care? 
If  the  young  ravens,  when  they  cry, 
Find  from  his  hand  a  rich  supply, 
Shall  not  his  moral  image  find 
Him  lib'ral,  bounteous,  and  kind? 
When  you  were  but  a  little  boy, 
Did  Ma  forget  her  prattling  joy? 
Did  she  forget  she  had  a  child, 
Although  eccentrical  and  wild? 
No — neither  will  the  God  above, 
Forget  the  objects  of  his  love: 
Sooner  shall  yon  vast  sea  go  dry, 
And  sun  and  moon  forsake  the  sky! 


THE  SHORTNESS  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    VARIOUS    SIMILES. 

THE  moment  is  here,  and  the  arrow  has  flown; 
The  day  disappears  and  the  shuttle  is  thrown; 
The  grass  is  all  wither'd  and  dead  at  the  root; 
The  plant  that  once  budded  is  nipp'd  in  the  shoot; 
The  dew  that  once  glitter'd  has  vanish M  away; 
The  night  has  departed  and  clos'd  is  the  day; 
The  dream  now  has  ended; — the  vision  has  fled; 
The  stock  that  once  flourish'd  is  prostrate  and  dead; 
The  leaves  clothed  with  verdure  have  now  become  brown; 
The  whirlwind  has  pass'd — it  has  shaken  them  down; 
The  rain  is  all  over; — the  floods  have  pass'd  by; 
The  clouds  have  dispers'd  and  the  ground  ha?  grown  dry; 
10 


106  SHORTNESS    OF    HUMAN    LIFE. 

The  lily  has  faded  that  was  in  full  bloom; 

The  blossom  so  lovely  now  gives  no  perfume; 

The  rainbow  is  gone  and  its  colors  have  fled; 

The  tulip  has  dropp'd  and  the  marigold's  dead; 

The  roses'  bright  hues  have  all  left  the  parterre; 

The  flowers  have  perish'd  that  once  flourish'd  there; 

The  nut  has  grown  ripe  and  is  gone  to  the  ground; 

The  hulls  now  are  scatter'd  and  lie  all  around; 

The  corn  is  matur'd  and  is  laid  up  in  store; 

The  fruits  are  all  cover'd — you  see  them  no  more: — 

Such,  such  is  man's  life,  that  soon  passes  away; — 

A  moment — an  arrow — a  shuttle — a  day — 

A  grass  that  soon  withers  and  dies  at  the  root — 

A  plant  that  is  nipp'd  by  the  frost  in  its  shoot — 

A  dew  that  exhales  with  the  rays  of  the  sun — 

A  night  that's  departed — the  twilight  that's  gone — 

A  dream  that  is  ended,  a  vision  just  fled — 

A  stalk  that  once  flourish'd — a  stalk  that  is  dead — 

A  leaf  in  its  verdure — a  leaf  become  brown — 

A  whirlwind  that  pass'd  it  has  shaken  it  down — 

A  rain  that  descended — a  flood  that  pass'd  by — 

A  cloud  that  is  gone,  and  a  ground  that's  grown  dry— 

A  rainbow,  whose  colors  have  faded  away — 

A  tulip  that  droops — or  a  marigold  gay — 

A  lily  now  faded,  though  once  in  its  bloom- - 

A  blossom  that  gives  not  its  wonted  perfume — 

A  rose  that  has  lost  all  its  beauteous  hues — 

A  flower  now  perish'd  by  cold  morning  dews — 

A  nut  that  is  fallen  and  laid  on  the  ground — 

As  hulls  that  are  scattered  in  parcels  around — 

A  corn  that  is  gather'd  and  laid  up  in  store — 

A  fruit  that  is  cover'd — you  see  it  no  more! 


107 
STANZAS. 

OCCASIONED  SY  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  MRS.  M^Y. 

WAKE  creation's  harmonies,  and  tune  each  living  chord, 

Sing  endless  hallelujahs  to  our  redeeming  Lord; 

A  sister  in  our  Zion  has  made  a  safe  retreat, 

To  worship  with  the  thousands  who  fall  at  Jesu's  feet! 

Through  sulf 'rings,  like  her  Master,  her  soul  was  per- 
fect made, 

And  though  we  weep  sincerely,  we  mourn  her  not  as 
dead; 

For  though  her  mortal  body  is  to  the  grave  consign'd, 

Her  pure  and  happy  spirit  has  left  all  sin  behind! 

How  splendid  was  her  triumph  the  day  before  she  died? 

She  seem'd  to  view  the  portals  of  heaven  open'd  wide; 

Hence,  in  a  holy  rapture,  she  long'd  to  take  her  flight, 

Up  to  the  pearly  city  of  everlasting  light. 

Could  I  have  been  a  witness  of  her  abounding  joy, 

It  would  have  been  a  pleasure  (to  me,)  without  alloy; 

But  as  it  has  so  happen'd  I  did  not  see  that  sight, 

I'll  hasten  on  to  meet  her  in  that  pure  world  of  light. 

Though  in  yon  lonely  grave-yard  her  last  remains  are 
laid, 

It  cheers  me  in  reflecting  that  Mary  is  not  dead; 

She  lives,  and  lives  forever  in  that  bright  world  above, 

And  views  her  Lord  and  Savior,  whom  here  her  soul  did 
love. 

My  pious  friends  and  brethren,  who  saw  her  gasp  for 
breath, 

And  witness'd  her  great  triumph  o'er  pale  and  ghastly 
death, 


108  CHRISTMAS. 

Let  us  press  on  to  glory;  for  though  she's  gone  before, 
How  gladly  will  she  hail  us  on  that  eternal  shore! 
Hail,  thou  immortal  spirit,  thou  hast  the  rest  obtain'd; 
Thou  hast  received  a  kingdom — its  glory  thou  hast  gain'd; 
A  crown  of  fadeless  splendor — thy  temples  shall  adorn; 
I  hope  to  greet  thy  spirit  on  that  last  happy  morn! 
Till  then  adieu,  dear  Mary,  in  sacred  slumber  rest; 
Soft  be  the    winds  that  murmur  o'er    thy  turf-cover'd 

breast, 

Angels  shall  gently  wake  thee  on  that  decisive  day, 
And  whisper — "Rise  to  glory;  my  sister,  come  away!" 
Now  to  the  great  Jehovah  be  everlasting  praise, 
Who  favor'd  our  dear  sister  with  tokens  of  his  grace; 
Let  us,  as  she,  improve  them;  so  when  we  fail  and  die, 
We  shall  at  last  be  gathered  to  reign  with  God  on  high. 


CHRISTMAS. 

ON  this  auspicious,  blessed  morn, 
A  babe  in  Bethlehem  was  born, 
In  poor  and  humble  habit  clad, 
And  meanly  in  a  manger  laid. 
The  wise  men  saw  the  Eastern  Star, 
And  came  to  worship  from  afar; 
They  brought  their  gifts  to  his  retreat, 
And  humbly  worshiped  at  his  feet. 
The  shepherds  saw  the  heav'nly  light, 
That  shone  around  in  depth  of  night, 
And  angels  heard  with  joy  proclaim, 
"A  Savior's  born  in  Bethlehem. 
Fear  not;  Messiah  now  is  born,  , 

To  suffer  shame,  reproach,  and  scorn; 


109 


Go;  hail  his  birth  with  glad  acclaim; 
For  Jesus  is  the  infant's  name! 
Jesus  is  born  that  man  may  live, 
And  endless  life  through  him  receive; 
Good  will  from  heaven  to  men!  and  peace 
Now  reign  on  earth  and  never  cease." 
Jesus  has  laid  his  glory  by, 
And  lives  with  men  on  earth  to  die; 
Then  raise  your  highest,  nobl  ?st  songs, 
And  praise  him  with  immortal  tongues. 


Her  house  is  the  way  to  hell,  going  down  to  the  chambers  of 
.— Proverbs  vii,  27. 

CEASE,  pleasure!  trouble  me  no  more; 

Go,  haunt  the  busy  "brains  of  jnen, 
Who,  though  arrived  to  their  three-score, 

Can  count,  with  joy,  ill-gotten  gain! 

Sensual  delights  and  shining  toys, 

Can't  ease  the  tortures  of  the  mind; 
For  they  afford  but  transient  joys, 

And  always  leave  a  sting  behind! 

They  plant  with  thorns  a  dying  bed, 
And  fill  the  soul  with  keenest  throes, 

With  secret  horror — inward  dread — 
The  harbinger  of  endless  woes! 

Alluring  and  deceitful  bliss, 

Too  oft  are  men  led  off  by  thee; 
But,  ah,  they  find  thy  sweetest  kiss 

Attended  with  great  agony. 
10* 


110 


Though  wanton  minds  may  strive  to  paint 
Thee  queen  of  all  inferior  joys, 

And  fondly  wish  that  no  restraint, 

Were  laid  on  what  so  much  they  prize; 

Yet  O,  the  end,  the  dreadful  end, 

That  waits  the  wanton  soul  below; 
For  every  step  she  takes,  doth  tend 
To  unconceiv'd,  eternal  woe! 

Then  learn,  my  feet,  to  shun  the  way 
That  leads  to  her  defiled  abode; 

Let  not  thine  eyes  tempt  thee  to  stray, 
Nor  walk  her  God-dishon'ring  road. 


LINES. 

On  M.  STARK,  a  dignified  Divine  of  Augsburg,  Germany,  asserting 
that  ten  black  spots  were  discernible  on  the  sun  in  the  years  181C 
and  1817. 

ASTRONOMERS  have  grown  quite  wise, 
And  through  their  telescopic  eyes, 

What  wonders  they  descry; 
Ten  spots,  large  as  a  piece  of  eight, 
Some  confidently  now  relate, 

Have  black'd  the  sun's  bright  eye! 

Though  I'm  no  great  astronomer, 
My  own  opinion  I  prefer, 

And  think  good  Monsieur  Stark, 
Has  soar'd  so  long  among  the  stars, 
That,  from  the  fact,  it  now  appears, 

He  sees  best  in  the  dark! 


EXCELLENCE    OF    THE    BIBLE.  Ill 

Look  down  ye  planets,  from  the  skies, 
And  thou,  Sol,  gaze  with  thy  ten  eyes,* 

On  this  profound  Divine; 
Now  speak,  I  pray  you,  if  ye  can, 
And  tell  me  if  this  learned  man 

Is  not  a  son  of  thine? 

If  so,  O  take  him  up  again, 
And  let  him  in  your  orbs  remain, 

Your  wonders  to  explore; 
So  when  he  visits  us  again, 
He  shall  renew  his  former  strain, 

And  tell  us  ten  times  more! 


THE  SUPERIOR  EXCELLENCE  OF  THE  BIBLE. 

WHEN  COMPARED  WITH  THE  WORKS  OF  MAN. 

IN  ev'iy  Bible-page  we  trace, 
The  lustre  of  Jehovah's  face; 
How  pure  its  precepts!  how  divine! 
The  Godhead  in  its  op'nings  shine. 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero, 
In  language  fall  far,  far  below 
Its  simple,  unaffected  strain; 
Yet  how  sublime  and  grand  its  chain! 
A  Milton  and  a  Homer  yield, 
When  it  is  brought  upon  the  field; 
Isaiah  and  Habakkuk's  strain, 
Make  their  most  labor'd  efforts  vain! 

*Tliose  ten  black  spots  in  the  sun. 


112 


Euripides  and  Otway  too, 

Compar'd  with  it,  shrink  from  the  view; 

Though  we  their  tenderness  admire, 

They  cannot  equal  David's  fire: 

Or  let  good  Jeremiah  sing, 

And  mourn  the  case  of  Israel's  king; 

Heart-touching  pathos  then  is  felt, 

And  all  our  souls  in  sorrow  melt. 

Its  doctrines  elevate  the  soul, 

The  prevalence  of  crime  control, 

And  mis'ry  bows  beneath  the  sway 

Of  wide-diffus'd  millennial  day! 

Its  Moses  and  its  Paul  look  down, 

As  from  the  heights  of  heaven's  throne, 

Upon  the  Koran  (grov'lling  work!) 

And  pour  contempt  upon  the  Turk.* 

The  system  of  Confucius  too, 

Is  mean  and  trifling  to  the  view; 

His  wretched  fabric  melts  away, 

Before  the  blaze  of  Gospel  day. 


LINES. 

On  hearing  a  sceptic  say  "It  would  be  better  for  the  people  if  the 
Bible  had  been  destroyed  " 

DESTROY  the  Bible!  bid  the  sun 
No 'more  his  daily  circuit  run; 
Darkness  would  then  resume  her  seat; — 
No  light  would  guide  the  Christian's  feet! 

*Mahomet. 


EPITAPH. 

Dark  guilt  and  wretchedness  again, 
Would  cower  here  with  all  their  train; 
While  Nature  would  give  signs  of  woe, 
And  spread  dismay  through  all  below! 
Destroy  my  Bible!  you  destroy 
The  rich  man's  hope,  the  poor  man's  joy; 
Consign  them  both  to  endless  doubt, 
And  strike  their  future  prospects  out! 
Destroy -the  Book!  unpeople  heav'n! 
Deprive  us  of  our  sins  forgiv'n! 
And  where  our  mortal  bodies  lie, 
THERE  bury  HOPE — and  let  her  die! 
Restore  the  monster,  death,  his  sting, 
And,  what  is  not  a  little  thing, 
Consign  us  to  eternal  sleep, 
Or  woes  unfathomably  deep! 
Destroy  the  Bible! — what  is  worse, — 
You  make  my  life  the  greatest  curse, 
And  bury,  in  one  common  grave, 
The  fairest  views  a  man  can  have! 


113 


EPITAPH  ON  A  BLACKSMITH. 

WHO    DEPARTED    THIS   LIFE    MAY    5th,  1821. 

HERE  lies  a  sturdy  Vulcan,  who  blew  a  noble  blast; 
He  blew  the  bellows  often;  he  now  has  blown  his  last: 
He  was  a  merry  fellow,  and  lov'd  a  sparkling  bowl; 
Confusion  to  his  enemies — but  quiet  to  his  sow// 
His  hammer  now  is  silent;  his  anvil  gives  no  sound, 
No  more  he'll  drink  his  bumper,  or  send  the  glass  around; 
His  smith-work  is  completed;  his  business  finished  too;   ' 
Let  brother  smiths  come  forward  and  take  a  long  adiou. 


114 

LINES. 

On  the  sudden  death  of  Mrs.  C****,  of  C**b*r***d,  Md. 

WHAT  solemn  sound  invades  my  ear? 

It  is  the  toiling  bell  I  hear; 

It  speaks  a  mortal's  sudden  leap, 

Into  that  vast  and  boundless  deep! 

How  quickly  did  the  summons  come! 

Ifpw  swift  her  passage  to  the  tomb! 

How  soon  was  broken  life's  frail  thread! 

How  soon  she's  number'd  with  the  dead! 

Thus  mortal  after  mortal  dies, 

And  leaves  us  all  in  deep  surprize; 

We  pause — and  then  their  steps  pursue, 

Forgetting  we  must  follow  too. 

O  what  shall  rouse  the  careless  mind, 

To  leave  all  earthly  cares  Behind? 

To  build  our  hopes  above  the  sky, 

And  while  we  live,  prepare  to  die! 

May  we  obey  the  solemn  call; 

It  has  a  voice  to  one  and  all; 

It  bids  our  trembling  spirits  flee, 

And  seek  a  refuge,  Lord,  in  Thee! 

O  help  us  now  to  hear  thy  word. 

And  follow  on  to  know  the  Lord: 

Thus  we  shall  in  thine  image  share, 

And  for  a  future  state  prepare. 

Great  God!  the  grace,  the  pow'r  is  thine; 

Do  thou  our  stubborn  hearts  incline 


ADDRESSED    TO    GENERAL   JAtKSON.  115 

To  yield  obedience  to  thy  word, 

And  with  due  rev'ience  serve  the  Lord. 

Then  when  the  knell  invades  our  ear, 

Our  hearts  will  never  yield  to  fear; 

It  will  a  joyful  message  be, 

That  bids  us  live,  O  Lord,  with  Thee! 


TO  GENERAL  A.JACKSON. 

his  way  to  Washington,  about  to  take  his  scat  as  Chief  Magis- 
trate of  the  Union. 


PEACE  to  the  warrior  and  the  sage, 
Whose  glory  gilds  Columbia's  page; 
Whose  prowess  hurPd  the  bolts  of  war, 
And  smote  the  vassals  from  afar: 
His  arm  has  laid  the  aliens  low, 
And  crush'd  their  phalanx  at  a  blow: 
All  hail — the  people's  will  and  choice; 
We  in  thy  great  deserts  rejoice: 
Go — with  thy  happy  household — go; 
May  blessings  strew  thy  way  below; 
We  will  hail  the  jubilee;— 
Jackson  lives! — We  shall  be  free! 
There  civic  honors  round  thee  wait, 
And  all  the  pomp  and  form  of  state, — 
The  splendid  hall, — the  stately  dome, — 
The  lustre  of  thy  country's  home, — 
The  grateful  heart. — the  friendly 
The  riches  ot  thy  native  land, — 


116  TO    C.    M.  TH**RE. 

The  aged  matron's  geri'rous  tear, 
Emitted  from  an  eye  sincere: 
Go — with  thy  happy  household — go; 
May  blessings  strew  thy  way  below; 
We  will  hail  the  jubilee; — 
Jackson  lives! — We  shall  be  free! 

(Sicesto!) 


TO  C.  M.  TH**RE. 

On  hearing  she  had  embraced  the  Swedenborgian  system. 

DEAR  Caroline! — Where  is  thy  lyre? 

And  is  it  on  the  willow  hung? 
Have  Swedenborgers  damp'd  thy  fire, 

And  drowned  the  music  of  thy  tongue? 

Has  error  taught  thy  flowing  song, 

To  turn  her  strains  another  way? 
In  doubtful  mazes  led  along, 

How  vainly  shall  thy  minstrels  play! 

But  I  will  weep  some  tears  for  thee; 

I'll  strew  my  sorrows  in  thy  road1, 
My  sister! — no — it  cannot  be 

That  thou  hast  yet  forsaken  God! 

Shall  she  who  taught  the  giddy  youth, 

To  shun  the  painful,  wiley  maze, 
Be  led  so  far  from  gospel-truth, — 

So  far  estranged  from  Jesu'g  ways? 


TO    C.  M.  TH**RE.  117 

No;  come,  my  wandering  sister,  come; 

My  heart  is  pain'd — it  feels  for  thee; 
In  Jesu's  breast  there  still  is  room, 

For  every  prodigal  and — me! 

The  Spirit  and  the  Bride  say,  "Come;" 
And  "Come,"  with  all  my  heart,  I  cry; 

Return,  my  wand 'ring  sister,  home; 
O  come  and  find  His  mercy's  nigh! 

I  will  not— cannot  give  thee  o'er; 

No;  thou  shalt  seek  the  fold  again;  . 

My  soul  shall  be  refresh'd  once  more, 

By  stanzas  from  thy  glowing  pen! 

My  sister  thou,  by  dearest  ties; 

My  sister  through  a  Savior's  name; 
Born  from  above — wing'd  for  the  skies, 

With  thee  I  hope  to  praise  the  Lamb! 

And  shall  this  anxious  wish  be  vain? 

Forbid  it,  Holy  Trinity! 
Let  Caroline  renew  her  strain, 

And  love  unite  her,  Lord,  to  thee! 

Then  shall  she  raise  her  tuneful  voice, 

And  emulate  the  angel-choir; 
While  it  shall  be  my  happy  choice, 

To  light  my  taper  at  her  fire. 

Then  we,  in  unison,  shall  sing 

The  triumphs  of  ImmanuePs  name; 
To  him  our  humble  trophies  bring, 

And  shout  "Salvation  to  the  Lamb!" 
11 


118  A   TRAGICAL   TALE- 

But  if  them  stubborn  shalt  remain, 
I'll  fall  at  Jesu's  feet  and  pray, 

That  grace  may  wash  thy  foulest  stain, 
And  take  thy  broadest  blot  away. 


A  TRAGICAL  TALE.    Luke  xvl. 

MY  tale  is  affecting,  and  tragic,  and  true;-^ 
Come,  hear  with  attention;  for  it  concerns  you; 
The  fact  is  appalling,  and  reaches  to  all, 
The  rich,  and  the  poor,  and  the  great,  and  the  small. 

That  it  is  a  genuine,  authentic  record, 
Is  fully  confirm'd  by  our  Savior  and  Lord; 
It  treats  of  a  rich  man  who  died  very  poor; 
For  he  lost,  forever,  his  whole  worldly  store! 

It  seems  God  had  prosper'd  his  pilgrimage  here, 
And  he,  perhaps,  boasted  his  thousands  a  year; 
His  clothing  was  costly— of  the  Tyrian  dye, — 
The  richest  the  country  could  then  well  supply. 

Fine  linen  and  purple  he  wore,  we  are  told, 
Was  richly  adorn'd  with  both  silvei  and  gold; 
His  tables  were  spread  with  fine  viands  and  fruit, 
And  ev'iy  thing  nice  that  the  palate  might  suit. 

His  fare  was  most  sumptuous,  our  Savior  declares; 
But  he  had  to  die  and  leave  all  to  his  heirs; 
But  with  so  much  feasting  his  prayers  were  forgot; — 
The  Prophets  and  Moses — of  these  he  ne'er  thought! 


A    TRAGICAL   TALE.  119 

While  he  was  thus  careless,  by  Jesus  'tis  said, 
A  poor  helpless  beggar  was  at  his  gate  laid; 
The  beggar  desir'd  to  have  a  supply 
Of  this  rich  man's  offals,  that  daily  pass'd  by. 

That  these  were  denied  him  we  cannot  be  sure; 
For  on  this  sad  subject  our  Lord  says  no  more; 
We  cannot  say  whether  he  got  food  or  not; 
For  ulcers  confin'd  him,  we  know,  to  the  spot. 

His  pittance  was  scanty — of  this  we  are  sure; 
He  only  desir'd  the  crumbs  and  no  more; 
For  he  could  not  walk,  and  therefore,  it  is  said, 
This  poor  helpless  creature  was  at  his  gate  laid! 

The  rich  man  pass'd  by  him,  no  doubt,  ev'ry  day; 
For  some  had  thus  laid  this  poor  man  in  his  way; 
But  this  haughty  lordling  pass'd  Lazarus  by, 
And  on  the  poor  beggar  he  cast  not  an  eye! 

But  though  this  poor  creature  was  so  much  distress'd, 
That  he  had  no  pallet  on  which  he  might  rest; 
Though  he  was  neglected  by  great  and  by  small, 
The  dogs  in  compassion  attended  his  call. 

They  sooth'd  his  afflictions — though  they  could  not  cure, 
They  fondled  upon  him — and  they  lick'd  his  sore; 
Dogs  were  his  physicians — no  help  could  he  have; 
Disease  and  misfortunes  brought  him  to  the  grave. 

But  how  the  scene  chang'd  when  poor  Lazarus  died; 
Though  men  may  neglect  us,  the  Lord  will  provide; 
He  sends  the  good  angels  to  bring  him  away, 
To  Abraham's  bosom,  where  all  the  saints  lay. 


120  A    TRAGICAL    TALE. 

The  beggar  was  ready — and  closed  was  the  scene; 
"  He  goes  to  a  climate  all  fair  and  serene; 
He  joins  with  the  thousands  that  went  long  before, 
And  swells  the  high  triumphs  on  that  happy  shore. 

He  sets  down  with  Abra'm,  our  Savior  has  said, 
And  now  he  is  feasting  on  heavenly  bread; 
No  sickness,  no  sorrow  his  mind  shall  molest, 
And  he  dwells  forever  near  Jesu's  breast. 

The  rich  man  was  dwelling  still  careless  below; 
He  thought  not  that  Laz'rus  had  'scaped  from  all  woe; 
And  while  he  wras  planning  to  increase  his  store, 
He  suddenly  died  and  was  heard  of  no  more! 

Death  call'd  for  the  rich  man,  in  spite  of  his  pride; 
For  Jesus  informs  us  that  he  also  died; — 
He  slept  off  his  life-time,  and,  to  his  surprize, 
In  hell,  we  are  told,  that  he  lifted  his  eyes! 

How  chang'd  his  condition! — he  feels  he  is  poor, 
And  nothing  is  left  him  of  all  his  vast  store; 
But  O!  he  sees  Laz'rus  in  regions  above; — 
In  Abraham's  bosom  he's  feasting  on  love! 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  we  read  that  he  prays; — 
Attend  his  petition,  and  mark  what  he  says: — 
"I'm  dry,  Father  Abra'm;  send  Laz'rus  to  me; — 
A  small  drop  of  water — Pin  in  misery! 

"Let  Lazarus  the  tip  of  his  finger  apply, 

To  some  of  those  waters  that  flow  sweetly  byj 

Those  rivers  of  pleasure  would  soon  quench  my  thirst; 

O  let  not  my  spirit  be  so  much  accurs'd! 


A    TRAGICAL   TALE.  121 

"I  used  to  see  Laz'rus,  but  'took  him  not  in;' 
I  sensibly  feel  this  a  part  of  my  sin; 
Bent  still  on  increasing  my  substance  below, 
I  let  all  my  mercies  unheededly  go! 

"Still  planning  and  dreaming  of  bliss  }ret  to  come, 
Death  suddenly  call'd  me; — and  is  this  my  home? 
I  left  in  confusion  my  concerns  below, 
And  now  I'm  engulph'd  in  this  region  of  woe! 

"Send  Lazarus  quickly — some  water  I  crave; 
My  state  is  more  wretched  than  the  meanest  slave; 
My  pain  is  exquisite — I'm  tortur'd  in  flame; 
My  wretched  condition  your  pity  will  claim. 

"The  favor's  a  small  one! — A  drop  I  implore; — 
What  sticks  to  the  tip  of  the  finger — no  mor?! 
O  send  Laz'rus  quickly — he  will  come,  I  know, 
When  he  is  appriz'd  I  am  tormented  so!" 

But  what  does  this  rich  man  receive  for  reply, 
In  this  sad  condition, — his  extremity? 
He  calls  Abra'm  father,  and  claims  a  near  kin; 
But  this  does  not  help  the  sad  plight  he  is  in! 

"My  son,"  says  good  Abra'm,  "Remember  below, 
That  you  receiv'd  good  things;  but  Laz'rus  not  so; 
You  had  of  the  world  all  the  joys  it  could  give; 
There's  nothing  hereafter  for  you  to  receive! 

"No — nothing  but  cursing,  and  sorrow,  and  pain; 
Not  the  least  enjoyment  can  you  e'er  obtain; 
Now  Laz'rus  is  happy; — but  not  so  with  you; — 
For  you  are  tormented;  'tis  justly  your  due! 
11* 


122  A    TRAGICAL    TALE. 

"Besides,  there's  a  gulph  fix'd  between  us  you  see, 
Nor  can  Laz'rus  pass  from  this  region  to  thee; 
Nor  can  you  pass  over  the  chasm  between, 
So  'world  without  end'  must  now  close  the  sad  scene!" 

"Then  if  I  must  suffer,"  the  rich  man  replied, 
"Send  one  from  the  dead — I've  five  brethren  beside; 
Go,  tell  them  I'm  suff'ring  in  this  awful  place, 
While  they  yet  have  power  to  better  their  case! 

"While  I  had  a  mansion  in  yon  world  below, 
We  feasted  together,  and  mock'd  at  this  woe; 
If  one  will  apprize  them  I'm  in  this  bad  place, 
Undoubtedly  they  will  attend  to  their  case!" 

"If  they  hear  not  Moses,"  good  Abra'm  replied, 
"And  all  of  those  prophets  God  sent  them  beside; 
They  will  not  believe  one  though  from  the  dead  sent, 
Nor  would  they  their  sceptical  conduct  repent." 

"O  no,"  said  the  rich  man,  "if  you  would  but  send, 
And  tell  them  the  state  of  their  former  old  friend, 
By  one  of  those  persons,  whom  living  they  knew, 
'Tis  morally  certain  for  mercy  they'd  sue! 

"My  case  is  so  hopeless,  I'm  sure  they  would  fly; 
I  want  not  their  comp'ny,  since  here  I  must  die; 
O  send  one  and  warn  them  by  heaven  and  hell, 
And  by  all  those  torments  in  which  I  must  dwell!" 

"There  is  no  redemption,"  said  Abra'm,  "beneath; 
For  all  there  is  darkness  and  eternal  death; 
There  is  no  probation— the  term  ends  below; 
Beyond  all  is  pain  and  sharp  twinges  of  woe! 


A    TRAGICAL   TALE.  123 

"Your  friends'  dooms  are  certain, should  they  still  proceed; 

But  now  they  have  ev'ry  advantage  they  need; 

If  they  reject  Moses  and  others  beside, 

All  means  would  be  useless,  however  applied." 

So  ends  this  sad  talk  between  Abra'm  and  one 
Who  still  had  neglected  God  under  the  sun; 
His  wealth  so  engross'd  all  his  powers  of  mind, 
That  for  things  eternal  no  room  could  he  find! 

A  hell  and  a  heaven  will  shortly  contain 
The  present  whole  bulk  of  the  children  of  men; 
For  here  father  Abra'm  has  drawn  out  the  line 
That  fixes  each  station — the  beggar's  and  mine! 

We  have  some  advantage  of  Dives,  you  know; 
We've  Moses,  the  prophets,  apostles  also; 
But,  what  is  far  better,  Christ  Jesus  the  Lord, 
Has,  for  our  instruction,  left  this  on  record. 

If  this  thoughtless  rich  man  found  so  hot  a  hell, 
What  will  be  the  portion  of  those — who  can  tell? 
Who  have  revelation — God's  own  standing  will, 
With  grace  all-sufficient  their  vows  to  fulfil? 

Wake,  wake  from  your  slumber,  ye  rich  and  ye  poor; 
The  judge,  you  remember,  new  stands  at  the  door; 
Ensure  your  election;  and  so  when  you  die, 
Bright  angels  shall  take  you  to  glory  on  high! 


124 

LINES. 
On  visiting  the  house  of  the  Rev.  J**n  J.  J*c*b. 

JUST  on  the  verge  of  life  I  see 
A  faithful  soldier  of  the  cross; 

A  bishop  in  the  ministry, 

And  able  in  his  Master's  cause. 

In  yon  sequester'd,  hallow'd  spot, — 
His  name  into  oblivion  hurl'd, 

By  those  who  have  too  soon  forgot 
His  efforts  to  reform  the  world, — 

He  lives  with  a  selected  one; — 
An  object  suited  to  his  mind; 

And  there  in  peace  they  live  alone; 
A  better  mate  no  man  could  find! 

How  studious  she  is  to  please! 

How  carefully  she  waits  his  word! 
And  moves  with  cheerfulness  and  ease, 

T*  obey,  as  one  who  fears  the  Lord! 

Before  their  door  a  little  rill, 

From  yonder  mountains,  winds  its  way; 
On  either  side  is  seen  a  hill, 

That  intercepts  the  op'ning  day. 

'Twas  in  this  small  romantic  glen, 
I  pass'd  the  day  and  all  the  night, 

And  read  and  talk'd  of  books" and  men, 
And  all  I  saw  gave  me  delight. 


125 


I  shook  the  old  man  by  the  hand, 
A  tear  then  quiver'd  in  my  eye; 

I  made  my  way  to  Cumberland, 
And  said — "The  old  man  soon  will  die!" 

"Then  Susan  wiirbe  left  alone, 
And  many  sorrows  she  must  see; 

But  may  God's  righteous  will  be  done; 
His  death  would  be  a  grief  to  me1 

"But,  be  this  as  it  may,  the  loss 
Of  such  a  man  is  felt  much  more, 

Than  all  those  things  so  full  of  dross, 
That  walk  Columbia's  happy  shore! 

'/In  peace  may  they  both  end  their  days; 

In  peace  may  they  resign  their  breath; 
To  Jesu's  name  be  all  the  praise, 

I  hope  to  meet  them  after  death!" 


ON  AGE. 

IN    IMITATION     OF    OSSIAN. 

How  dark  and  unlovely  is  age! 

'Tis  like  the  moon's  glimmering  light. 
When  shining  through  fragments  of  clouds, 

The  mist  on  the  hills  says— "'Tis  night!" 

The  storm  of  the  north's  on  the  plain; — 
The  traveller  shrinks  from  the  blast; 

His  journey  will  soon  end,  and  then 
He  cries — "Ah!  the  morn's  come  at  last!' 


1 


126 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S   REJOICING, 

ARISE  my  soul,  arise, 

And  to  the  Savior  sing; 
Thy  home  is  in  the  skies, 

And  Jesus  is  thy  King; 
With  Him  I  hope  a  crown  to  wear, 
And  revel  in  His  glory  there. 

Beyond  those  rolling  spheres, 

Beyond  the  planets'  flight, 
To  everlasting  years, 

I'll  triumph  in  his  sight; 
And  join  that  animated  strain, 
"All  hail  the  Lamb  for  sinners  slain!" 

When  heaven's  host  decay, 

And  sink  in  endless  night; 
When  sun  shall  fade  away, 

Nor  moon  nor  stars  give  light, 
I  hope  to  sing,  and  shout,  and  shine, 
And  pla}^  upon  a  harp  divine! 

The  music  of  those  strains, 

Shall  charm  the  holy  choir; 
And,  long  as  Jesus  reigns, 

Shall  life  and  joy  inspire: 
The  burden  of  our  song  shall  be, 
"Worthy  the  Lamb  who  died  for  me!" 


127 


Then  let  me  now  begin 

To  learn  that  song  below, 
And  trampling  down  all  sin, 

To  greater  conquests  go; 
Till  freed  from  earth  and  sin,  I  rise 
To  claim  a  mansion  in  the  skies. 

Jesus,  my  friend  on  high, 

My  advocate  above, 
Help  me  to  live  and  die 

The  subject  of  thy  love; 
And  with  my  last,  my  parting  breath, 
Proclaim  Thy  faithfulness  in  death. 


A  FABLE. 
THE  RAT  AXD  THE  MOUSE; 

Or  small  things  often  the  occasion  of  matrimonial  strife.    Addressed 
to  Mrs.  L***a  H**k*ns***n,  on  her  late  marriage. 

A  MARRIED  couple,  it  appears, 
(To  tell  a  tale  of  former  years,) 
For  forty  years  had  lived  in  peace, 
With  all  the  joys  of  wedded  bliss: 
But  one  day  when  engaged  in  chat, 
They  talk'd  of  this  and  then  of  that, 
Condemning  matrimonial  strife, 
In  those  who  lead  a  wrangling  life, 
The  old  man  turn'd  aside  his  eyes, 
And,  lo,  he  saw  with  some  surprise, 
As  he  believed,  a  large  house  rat, 
And  said,  "Good  woman,  look  at  that!" 


128  A    FABLE. 

"If  rats  our  house  should  so  infest, 
I  fear  we  shall  have  little  rest. 
Did  you  not  see  that  paltry  rat, 
Nearly  as  large  as  half-grown  cat? 
Behind  the  cupboard  now  it  lies" — 
"Poh!"  cried  the  wife,  you  have  bad  eyes; 
It  was  a  Mouse — I  saw  it  too, 
As  it  was  running,  well  as  you!" 
"Did  you  e'er  hear  the  like  of  that," 
Rejoin'd  the  husband,  "'twas  a  rat! 
I  ey'd  the  rogue — pray,  don't  I  know, 
Mice  never  to  such  stature  grow!" 
The  wife  replied— "Pray,  let  it  rest; 
It  was  a  Mouse,  I  do  protest!"" 
The  old  man  in  a  passion  flew; — 
"Was  ever  wife  so  base  as  you? 
Think  you,  I  do  not  know  a  rat, 
That  you  would  contradict  me  flat?" 
The  wife  resolv'd  still  to  maintain 
A  thing  she  saw  so  very  plain, 
By  protestations  and  by  vows, 
Affirm'd  again — "It  was  a  Mouse!" 
This  added  fuel  to  the  fire, 
The  old  man's  anger  grew  the  higher; — 
His  mettle's  up!  he  will  not  yield; 
Th'  old  lady  too  would  keep  the  field; 
So  that  so  high  the  contest  rose, 
The  matter  almost  came  to  blows! 
At  length  to  bring  things  to  the  test, 
They  thought  to  part  it  would  be  best! 
But,  tired  of  a  lonely  life. 
The  old  man  would  recal  his  wife; 


A    FABLE.  129 

So  went  and  smoothed  the  matter  o'er, 
So  both  grew  pleasant  as  before. 
But  when  he  thought  all  was  forgot, 
And   old  affairs  would  matter  not; 
"Pity,"  said  he,  "we  had  such  strife, 
And  discompos'd  our  peaceful  life;" 
"But,"  speaking  to  his  wife,  he  said, 
"You  were  too  fast,  dear  wife,  indeed; 
The  thing  I  saw  was  a  large  rat" — 
"'Tis  false!  I  contradict  you  flat," 
Rejoin'd  the  wife — "//  was  a  Mouse, 
As  sure  as  we  are  in  the  house!" 
The  matter  now  reviv'd  again, 
Gave  to  the  parties  so  much  pain, 
They  mutually  resolv'd  to  part, 
Though  forty  years  both  of  one  heart! 
You'll  say — It  was  a  trifling  thing, 
"That  did  to  both  such  mischief  bring;" 
Admitted:  but  those  trifles  swell — 
How  large  is  not  for  me  to  tell! 
Would  you  be  happy?  then  avoid 
The  rock  that  thousands  has  destroy 'd: 
In  smaller  matters  always  yield, 
And  let  your  husband  keep  the  field. 
Is  anger  apt  in  him  to  rise? 
Then  take  your  aged  friend 'sad  vice; 
Speak  pleasant  if  you  speak  at  all, 
And  very  soon  his  wrath  will  fall; 
For  grievous  words  will  stir  up  strife, 
And  give  you  an  unhappy  life. 
If  he  gets  angry— be  you  mild; 
Two  madmen  act  amazing  wild! 


LINES. 

If  he  has  reason,  he'll  grow  cool; 

For  anger  rests  but  with  a  fool. 
The  fable  of  the  Rat  and  Mouse, 
Shows  many  things  about  a  house, 
May  be  the  cause  of  no  small  strife, 
And  much  embitter  wedded  life. 


LINES. 

On  the  phenomenon  which  made  its  appearance  on  Tuesday  night, 
November  12th,  P.  M.,  and  November  13th,  A.  M.,  ]833,  and 
caused  considerable  alarm  among  the  whites  and  the  colored  at 
H.  P.  and  elsewhere. 

THE  night  was  quite  clear  and  the  firmament  bright, 
The  sky  became  flush'd  with  the  spirits  of  night; 
As  armies  they  drew  up  in  pompous  parade; — 
They  held  their  encampment  just  over  my  head: — 

La!  what  is  the  matter? 

My  teeth  fairly  chatter; 
Dear,  dear,  Pm  afraid  that  some  evil  is  sped! 

In  angry  commotion  they  gather  on  high, 

As  swift  as  an  arrow  in  vollies  they  fly; 

They  make  for  the  east,  for  the  north,  south,  and  west, 

And  this  way  and  that,  or  wherever  seems  best; 

La!  what  is  the  matter? 

My  teeth  fairly  chatter; 
If  they  fall  on  my  noddle  they'll  put  me  to  rest! 


LINES.  131 

Dick,  run  and  wake  Thomas  to  see  the  great  sight; 
The  spirits  are  now  all  engaged  in  fierce  fight; 
Their  broad  glaring  jav'lins  are  over  us  hurPd; 
The  flash  of  their  weapons  gives  light  to  the  world: 

La!  what  is  the  matter? 

My  teeth  fairly  chatter! 
The  spirits  of  night  have  their  banners  unfurl'd. 

"O  mother,"  says  William,  "see  how  it  snows  fire!" 
"Well  now!"— "If  it  don't,  you  may  call  me  a  liar!" 
"Lord  bless  me!"  says  Dinah,  "de  judgment  is  come;" 
"You  knows  nottin'  about  it,"  says  Cuffy,  "Fum!  fum! 

La!  what  be  de  matter? 

My  teef  fairly  chatter! 
Go,  Pompey,  and  bring  you  old  daddy  de  rum!" 

But,  painful  to  tell,  all  the  spirits  of  night, 
Exhausted  their  weapons  before  the  day-light; 
Their  powder  took  fire,  or  wasted  in  air; — 
You  can't  see  a  trace  that  they  ever  met  there! 

There  is  nothing  the  matter; 

Yet  still  my  teeth  chatter! 
War!  pest'lence,  and  famine!  to  meet  them  prepare! 

Give  no  heed  to  fables — 'tis  old  women's  stuff; 
Just  keep  a  good  conscience,  and  that  is  enough; 
You  then  may  sleep  soundly,  and  should  you  not  rise, 
May  outshine  those  meteors  beyond  these  low  skies; 

There  no  tempests  shall  patter, 

That  mortal  things  shatter; 
But  glory  on  glory  illumine  your  eyes. 


132 
TO    A    NEWLY    MARRIED    PAIR. 

ADDRESSED  TO  MRS.  N*N*Y     D*V*LL. 

As  two  drops  together  meet, 
And  in  meeting  make  but  one; 

So  may  you,  in  bliss  complete, 
Through  life's  doubtful  mazes  run! 

Jars,  the  bane  of  married  life, 

From  your  fireside  remove; 
At  a  distance  keep  all  strife, 

Women  should  obey  and  love! 

Love  is  the  cement  of  bliss; 

All  besides  must  go  for  nought; 
Nought  on  earth  can  equal  this; 

This  alone,  surpasses  thought. 

But  its  opposite  is  hate, 
And  all  love  it  must  expel; 

They  who  feel  it,  soon  or  late, 
Find  that  hatred  is  a  hell! 

Yield  your  judgment  to  the  man; 

'Tis  the  sure  and  safest  way;        -  jf 
This  is  the  most  proper  plan, 

Though  some  simple  women  stray. 

Bend  your  will  his  views  to  meet; 

This  will  soon  beget  true  love, 
When  he  sees  that  wisdom  sweet, 

Mixes  with  the  harmless  dove. 


THANKSGIVING.  133 

Thus  serenely  pass  your  days, 

Looking  wholly  to  the  Lord; 
Beg  Him  to  direct  your  ways, 

Arid  to  guide  you  by  his  word. 

Then  when  all  your  toils  expire, 

You  the  haven  shall  obtain; 
And  with  the  Eternal  Sire, 

In  his  boundless  glory  reign! 


The  following  page  shall  be  sacred  to  t!ic  memory  of  the  RevM 
John  J.  Jacob,  a  local  minister  of  the  Alethodisi  Episcopal  Church. 
His  stanzas  are  now  published  for  the  lir.-t  ti.ne,  though  composed 
and  sung  on  a  day  of  general  Thanksgiving  for  the  return  of  peace, 
April  13th,  1815. 

FOR  THP:  DAY  OF  THANKSGIVING,  Ap.  13, 1815. 

THE  voice  of  peace  afar  resounds, 

All  nature  smiles — each  heart  rebounds! 

No  more  the  martial  cannons  roar, 

The  din  of  war  is  heard  no  more! 

Now  peace  expands  her  dove-like  wings; 

With  heartfelt  joy  the  nation  sings, 

To  God  be  all  the  glory  giv'n; 

For  peace  on  earth  is  joy  in  heav'n! 

No  more  the  warlike  trumpet  sounds — 

Nor  human  blood  pollutes  our  grounds; 

The  tender  virgins  cease  to  sigh, 

And  war-made  widows  no  more  cry. 

Marauders  give  their  plund'ring  o'er; 

The  hostile  fleet  forsakes  our  shore; 

12* 


134 


The  peasant  too  in  safety  sleeps; 

A  nation  now  no  longer  weeps. 

Ah,  lovely  peace!  thy  presence  yields 

More  fragrance  than  Arabia's  fields; 

Thy  perfume  far  exceeds  those  flow'rs, 

That  decorate  the  richest  bow'rs. 

AH  hail,  sweet  Peace!  Thou  heaven-born! 

Thou  blooming  rose  without  a  thorn; — 

White,  lily-robed,  without  a  stain; 

Carnage  avoids  thy  smiling  train. 

Now  wide-spread  desolations  cease; 

For  Jesus  reigns, — the  Prince  of  Peace; 

The  conflict's  past,  and  hell  gives  way; 

All  hail!   roll  on,  thou  gospel  day! 

"Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow — 

Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below; 

Praise  Him  above,  ye  heav'nly  host, 

Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost.'*        J.  J.  J. 


EPITAPH — ON    A    MAN    NAMED    LlTTLE. 

Here  lies  Little,  who  never  was  great — 
Here  lies  Little,  in  church  and  in  state — 
Here  lies  Little,  who  would,  if  he  could — 
Bat  so  it  has  happen'd,  he  did  little  good — 
For  he  was  but  little  wherever  he  went — 
And  Little  at  last  to  the  grave  he  was  sent — 
Peace  be  to  this  Little  wherever  he  be — 
He  was  little  to  you,  and — he's  far  less  to  me! 


135 


WORKS    OF   GENIUS,   NEW   INVENTIONS, 
PATENTS,  &c. 

Or,  The  public  imposed  on  by  different  pretensions. 

PRAY  tell  me,  what's  the  matter  now? 
"Here  is  a  new  and  patent  plough; 
See,  'tis  exactly  to  one's  mind — 
What  a  fine  length  of  tail  behind! 
See  what  a  large  and  graceful  shear, 
And  how  much  earth  it  will  lay  bare! 
Just  start  the  plough  and  let  her  go; 
For  she  will  keep  the  track,  I  know! 
The  horse  has  just  to  stretch  the  trace,— 
The  plough  will  always  keep  its  place; 
'Twill  sometimes  go  without  a  horse, 
Or  any  other  drawing  force! 
It  is  an  age  of  wonders  now; — 
It  needs  not  man  or  horse  to  plough! 
Just  turn  the  beam  or  wheel  it  round, — 
The  shear  will  run  beneath  the  ground; — 
'Tis  true,  as  you  have  got  a  soul, — 
It  has  the  nature  of  a  mole!" 
But  stand  aside — For  your  invention, 
Scarce  is  worth  a  farmer's  mention: 
"Here  is  a  churn! — strange  though  it  seem, 
On  the  true  principle  of  steam — 
See  how  the  paddles  all  will  flutter, — 
Just  let  them  go — they'll  make  your  butter! 
Though  you  may  think  it  is  a  dream, 
You  may  have  butter  without  cream! 


136  WORKS    OF    GENIUS,    &C. 

Mankind  have  grown  so  very  cunning, 
As  to  exclude  all  kinds  of  punning! 
I  have  a  gen'ral  patent  grant; — - 
This  churn  is  what  the  females  want! ' 
They  will  not  have  to  bend  and  sweat, 
And  murmur,  and,  with  justice,  fret: 
This  churn  will  answer  ev'ry  end; — 
It  may  be  styled  the  female's  friend! 
For  it  will  gather  butter  too; 
The  house-maid  will  have  nought  to  do! 
Just  let  her  hold  the  plate,  and  see 
How  small  her  daily  work  will  be!" 
But  stop,  strange  friend,  and  be  at  peace; 
Now  let  your  "clishmaclctver"  cease! 
Were  ever  such  great  wonders  seen? 
This  has  grand  claims! — "A  new  machine.' 
"Come,  tumble  in  your  dirty  duds, 
'Twill  wash  without  your  making  suds! 
Just  let  me  try  your  soil'd  cravat; 
Or,  if  you  please,  throw  in  your  hat: 
It  is  a  proper  Washing  Jenny — 
'Twill  make  you  clean  as  is  a  penny! 
No  thanks  to  congress,  king,  or  pope, 
'Twill  be  a  saving  great  of  soap; 
For  this  machine,  think  as  you  please, 
Will  make  you  clean  with  so  much  ease; 
Besides— the  water?     Not  a  gill; 
As  it  runs  round  the  void  will  fill! 
I'm  sure  no  man  of  common  sense, 
Will  grudge  his  wife  the  small  expense 
Of  buying  one: 


WORKS    OF   GENIUS,    &C.  137 

But  stand  away; 

For  here  is  a  more  grand  display — 
A  man  of  science — see  his  plan; — 
'Tis  lor  the  gen'ral  good  of  man. 
He  opens  out  a  lengthy  scroll; — 
It  shows  the  greatness  of  his  soul! 
I'll  tell  you  what  he  makes  a  fog! 
But  he's  a  learned  pedagogue! 
Children  may  learn  without  a  book; — 
Look  on  these  hissing  labials; — look! 
Dentals — nasals — gutt'rals  too; — 
How  simple  to  the  tyro's  view! 
Hissing  dentals  too  we  see; 
Besides  a  most  elab'rate  Key! 
The  children  must  learn  these — and  then, 
They'll  spell  and  read  like  learned  men! 
Come,  come,  my  boys;  don't  stir  a  peg; — 
You  know  th'  old  play, — "Mumble  the  Meg?" 
Take  care! — But  what  may  feed  your  pride, 
The  words  are  here  all  "classified!" 
The  "hieroglyphics"  fully  prove 
You'll  learn  to  read — if  books  you  Jove, 
You'll  "know  the  letters"  just  "on  sight;" 
To  read  well  is  a  great  delight! 
The  "vowels"  you  will  know  by  rule, 
The  "consonants"  are  but  their  tool; 
What  "hissing"  we  shall  have  in  school! 
For  here  are  hissing  F  and  V, 
And  hissing  X,  Z,  S,  H,  C, 
And  "principles"  on  every  side, 
And  "figures"  too  are  multiplied; 
So,  on  the  whole,  'tis  very  plain 
It  will  not  turn  the  poor  child's  brain! 


lie,   -j 

•1;      f 

iool!  J 


138  WORKS    OF    GENIUS,    &C. 

How  scientific  we  are  getting! 

Since  we  our  father's  ways  are  quitting! 

Besides,  all  error  to  prevent, 

Each  word,  you  see,  has  its  "accent;" 

And  here,  you  find  in  solemn  state 

The  pre-an-te-pe-nul-ti-mate! 

This  shows  th'  inventor  has  great  learning! 

And  a  wig  full  of  discerning, 

The  book's  on  the  syllabic  plan, 

And  William  M -yis  the  man!* 

He  dreamed  ten  years,  by  some,  'tis  said, 
And  found  it  out— asleep!— in  bed! 
So  it  would  be  a  "monstrous  pity," 
To  make  him  subject  to  a  ditty! 
But  every  one,  it  seems  of  late, 
Who  can  but  figure  on  a  slate, 
Sets  up  to  prove,  before  his  betters, 
That  reading  is  not  done  by  letters! 
But  pray  give  room;  for  understand, 
Here  comes  a  man  with  a  New  Hand; — 
Perhaps  it  is  "Professor  Br**n," 
Who  goes  about  from  town  to  town. 
He  writes  some  hand,  gives  it  a  name, 
And  then — he's  on  the  road  to  fame! 
He  gathers  up  near  "fifty  scholars;" — 
Their  parents  tumble  out  the  dollars! 
But  the  "Professor's  credit"  dies; 
The  parents  all  have  acted  wise; 


*  To  do  justice  to  Mr.  W.  M. ,  he  has  published  a  Spelling 

Book,  which  does  him  credit;  but  his  plan  of  instructing  children  to 
read  in  so  short  a  time,  is,  and  forever  will  be  an  abortion!  Every 
attempt  ^to  facilitate  the  progress  of  youth  in  any  art  or  science,  is 
entitled  to  respect;  but  Mr.  M's  plan  has  too  much  "  Yankee  in  it.'* 


WORKS    OF    GENIUS,    &C.  139 

For,  O!  son  James  writes  a  great  scrawl; — 

The  money— I  don't  grudge  it  all! 

He  writes  a  handsome  "ang'ler"  hand;— 

See  how  "upright"  his  letters  stand! 

Well,  if  you're  pleased,  so  too  am  I; 

We'll  let  the  gentleman  pass  by; 

Lest  ninnies  should  suppose  'twas  spleen, 

That  made  me  cut  so  very  keen. 

But  after  the  itin'rant's  gone, 

I'll  send  my  son  to  'honest  John;'* 

I,  somehow,  like  his  hand  much  better, 

Than  this  new-fashioned  sort  of  letter! 

But  he  has  now  obtained  command 

Of  his  once  awkward-looking  hand. 

And  see  with  what  a  sweeping  caper, 

He  can  now  run  over  paper! 

Just  too  behold  what  famous  loops; — 

His  letters  look  like  barrel  hoops; 

And  with  a  tail  the  most  profound, 

See  how  he  swings  the  loop  around! 

But  lest  the  knowing  ones  presume 

To  say,  I  take  up  too  much  room, 

I'll  just  observe — your  money's  gone, 

And  many  gulls  are  coming  on; 

Pray,  look  around  you — have  a  care 

Not  to  be  gull'd  th'  ensuing  year. 

*  My  father  was  a  tutor,  and  often  received  old  scholars  again, 
after  they  had  left  him  and  tried  other  tutors  in  vain;  and,  with  mod- 
esty [  would  assert  it,  so  have  I. 


140 


LINES. 

Written  on  seeing  the  banner  erected  over  the  walls  of  the  Presby- 
terian Church,  now  building  in  Shepherdstown,  Va.  Addressed 
to  the  Rev.  J.  Hargrave. 

BUILD,  build  the  Lord  a  house; 

O  raise  His  banner  high; 
The  banner  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 

O  may  it  hover  nigh! 
It  flutters  in  the  breeze, 

O  may  it  flutter  still; 
Until  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 

Shall  all  His  temple  fill! 

O!  open  wide  your  purse; 

For  I,  alas!  am  poor; 
Let  not  your  riches  prove  your  curse; — 

Give!— God  will  give  you  more. 

Build,  build,  &c. 

Who  knows  the  vast  amount 

One  dollar  may  afford, 
When  put  to  int'rest  on  account, 

With  your  great  Sovereign— Lord? 
Build,  build,  &c. 

May  willing  crowds  repair, 

O  Zion,  to  thy  dome; 
While  numerous  converts  worship  there, 

And  find  a  lasting  home! 

Build,  build,  &c. 


141 


Inspire  thy  servant,  Lord, 

To  sound  the  Jubilee; 
Be  it  according  to  thy  word; 

Set  ev'ry  captive  free! 

Build,  build,  &tc. 

Loud  let  the  trumpet  sound; — 

Ye  slaves  of  sin  and  hell, 
Here  let  your  boundless  views  be  crowned; 

Return  with  God  to  dwell! 

Build,  build,  &c. 

Your  liberty  receive; 

To  day  obey  his  voice; — 
Believe;  on  Jesu's  name  believe, 

And  let  your  souls  rejoice. 

Build,  build,  Sec. 

Build,  build  the  Lord  a  house; 

O  raise  His  banner  high! 
The  banner  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 

O  may  it  hover  nigh! 
It  flutters  in  the  breeze, 

And  may  it 'flutter  still, 
Until  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 

The  wide  creation  fill! 


13 


142 


THE  CHANGEABLE  NATURE  OF  ALL  THINGS 
BELOW. 

MY  sun  is  fast  hast'ning  to  set  in  the  west; 

The  shades  too  are  length'ning — I'll  soon  sink  to  rest; 

Behind  the  horizon  the  shadows  all  fly, 

And  beauties  immortal  awake  to  mine  eye! 

I  here  see  but  darkly  as  though  through  a  glass; 

"While  all  things  are  fading  and  perish  as  grass; 

But  there,  with  clear  vision,  my  Savior  I'll  see, 

And  all  things  as  firm  as  Jehovah  shall  be! 

How  toilsome  and  painful  have  been  the  few  years, 

My  feet  have  been  traveling  through  this  vale  of  tears; 

My  friends  have  all  vanished  as  motes  in  the  air, 

And  leave  not  a  trace  that  they  ever  dwelt  here! 

Some  false  as  the  quicksand,  and  light  as  the  wind, 

The  sting  of  acquaintance  have  still  left  behind; 

While  others  as  true  as  the  steel  to  the  pole, 

Have  sunk  to  the  grave  with  a  grace -matur'd  soul. 

The  old  generation  have  all  passed  away, 

And  buried  in  mountains,  or  vallies  they  lay; 

My  relatives  tremble  as  leaves  in  the  breeze, 

Then  suddenly  drop  as  the  foliage  from  trees. 

Thus  father  and  mother  have  left  me  alone; 

My  other  relations  are  gone,  one  by  one; 

My  brothers  and  sisters  have  mingled  with  clay, 

And  I  shall  not  see  them  until  the  great  day! 

How  changeful,  inconstant  and  fickle  are  all 

That  flit  through  the  air,  or  that  walk  on  this  ball; 

Here  nothing  is  certain  except  it  be  death; 

This  only  is  certain  of  all  things  beneath! 


CHANGEABLE    NATURE.  143 

Then  why  should  I  grieve  that  iny  glass  is  near  run, 

And  that  with  the  bustle  of  life  I'll  have  done? 

The  earth  and  its  people  are  nothing  to  me; 

I  have  but  one  friend  whom  I  gladly  would  see! 

Through  all  the  sad  changes  I've  seen  hitherto, 

I  find  him  still  with  me  wherever  I  go; 

I  sue  for  his  bounty — I  lean  on  his  arm, 

The  hand  that  supports  me  can  do  me  no  harm! 

Away  then  with  sorrow,  my  sighs  I  dismiss; 

His  grace  is  my  comfort — his  smiles  are  my  bliss; — 

'Tis  rapture  unbounded,  extatic,  supreme; — 

The  glory,  the  honor,  and  praise  be  to  Him! 

My  limbs,  have  grown  feeble  and  hoary  my  head, 

And  though  my  connections  around  me  are  dead, 

I  find  Him  my  power;  Jie  strengthens  me  still, 

And  he  will  conduct  me  to  his  holy  hill. 

There  eternal  praises  shall  be  my  employ; 

He  shall  be  the  burden  of  my  future  joy; 

For  all  the  good  things  by  his  bounty  bestow'd, 

O  may  1  still  honor  my  Lord  and  my  God. 

How  long  I  shall  wander  in  exile  below, 

Is  what  my  best  friend  will  not  yet  let  me  know; 

Perhaps  if  I  knew  the  amount  of  my  load, 

I'd  sink  ere  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  road! 

A  vail  he  has  drawn  over  what  yet  may  be; 

The  future  in  mercy  is  hidden  from  me; 

Therefore  he  is  worthy  of  my  highest  praise, 

And  this  be  my  off' ring  to  my  latest  days. 

From  every  creature  let  anthems  arise, 

And  loud  hallelujahs  be  borne  to  the  skies; 

Ye  strong  rolling  thunders  re-echo  the  voice, 

And  bid  the  creation  in  Jesus  rejoice. 


144 


LINES. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  BENJAMIN  W.  BEET,ER,  who  departed  this 
life  November  24th,  18333  in  the  seventh  year  of  his  age. 

GOULD  youth  exemption  claim  from  death, 

Or  innocence  detain  its  dart, 
Alas,  the  shaft  had  not  been  sped 

That  wounds  so  deep  a  mother's  heart! 

But  youth  nor  innocence  avail, 

Nor  can  avert  the  tyrant's  blow; 
For  with  a  sure  and  steady  aim, 

He  brings  the  highest  monarch  low. 

His  trophies  teem  through  all  the  earth; 

His  badges  ev'ry  where  we  see: 
The  mourners  go  about  the  street, 

A  proof  of  man's  mortality. 

Then  let  us  be  prepared  to  meet 
That  final  shock  with  minds  serene; 

But  nothing  can  this  bliss  secure, 
But  a  strong  sense  of  pardon'd  sin. 

'Tis  guilt  gives  death  its  fiercest  form, 

And  furnishes  his  keenest  throes; 
But  grace  removes  his  sting,  and  sheds 

A  heavenly  sunbeam  on  our  woes. 

O!  seek  for  this  great  boon;  the  best 

That  God  can  on  the  soul  bestow; 
Grace  builds  a  bridge  o'er  death's  dark  gulph, 

And  they  who  trust  her  find  it  so ! 


145 

•  '  ¥ 

LINES. 

On  the  death  of  RICHARD  PARRIN  RANDAL,  an  infant. 

LOVELY  innocent,  adieu; 

Quickly  ended  is  thy  race; 
Now  thou  shalt  thy  Savior  view, 

Caught  up  to  his  soft  embrace: 
Angels  bore  thy  soul  on  high, 
To  the  portals  of  the  sky. 

Though  thy  parents  seem  bereft, 
And  weep  o'er  their  prattling  joy, 

O  what  trouble  hast  thou  left, 
What  disturbance  and  annoy! 

Nought  molests  thy  peace  above; 

'Tis  the  seat  of  endless  love, 

Thou  wast  but  an  early  flow'r, 

Born  to  bloom  but  for  a  day; 
Like  the  drop  of  midnight  hour, 

Thou  didst  shine  to  pass  away; 
But  thou  shalt  far  brighter  shine, 
All  immortal  and  divine. 

Farewell,  happy  spirit,  thou; 

Father!  see  thy  blooming  boy; 
Mother!  view  thy  infant  now; 

What  a  prodigy  of  joy! 
Always  happy — always  blest — 
Wouldst  thou  wish  him  back  from  rest? 
13* 


146 


Cease  fond  parents,  cease  thy  strife; 

To  thy  God  thy  babe  resign; 
Death  is  swallowed  up  of  life; 

Let  its  victory  be  thine: 
Then  may  ye  too  soar  away, 
And  embrace  in  endless  day. 


LINES. 

On  the  sudden  and  unexpected  death  of  E.   G.    B.— who  was 
thrown  by  his  horse,  and  killed  in  the  prime  of  his  life. 

MYSTERIOUS  stroke,  and  unexpected  blow; 
How  soon  thy  warmest  hopes  are  all  laid  low; 

Thy  visionary  schemes  have  swiftly  fled; 
The  clammy  sweats  of  death  are  on  thy  cheek, 
And  volumes  to  the  young  it  seems  to  speak; — 

The  promising,  the  blooming  Edmund's  dead! 

Such  often  is  the  morning  of  the  day, — 
The  sun  throws  out  his  broad,  his  golden  ray, 

And  gladdens  fields,  and  gilds  the  mountain's  brow; 
But  lo!  a  dark  and  dismal  cloud  comes  o'er, 
We  can  behold  the  cheering  scene  no  more, 

And  nature's  face  appears  all  dreary  now! 

The  fair,  the  lovely,  and  the  sprightly  youth, 
Should  learn  to  advocate  the  cause  of  truth, 

While  Providence  prolongs  their  fleeting  breath; 
We  cannot  tell  what  the  next  hour  may  bring; 
For,  from  the  houseless  beggar  to  the  king, 

All,  all  are  subject  to  the  stroke  of  death! 


147 


BISHOP  EMORY'S  DEATH. 

How  chang'd  the  herald  of  the  cross, 
From  what  when  living  now; 

The  church  in  sackcloth  mourns  the  loss;- 
The  death  sweat's  on  his  brow! 

The  eye  that  sparkled  once  so  bright, 

Is  clos'd  in  its  last  sleep, 
The  soul  has  winged  its  mystic  flight; 

His  dust  the  angels  keep! 

They  hold  their  vigils  o'er  his  grave, 
And  guard  their  hallow'd  trust; 

The  strong,  the  Mighty  One  to  save, 
Remembers  all  our  dust. 

Th'  important  era  soon  will  come; — 

John  had  it  in  his  eye; — 
Long  had  he  bent  his  pathway  home; 

For  he  was  fit  to  die; 

But  when  that  morning  heaves  in  view, 

The  change  is  greater  far; 
For  John  shall  be  an  angel  too, 

And  shine  like  yon  bright  star! 

He  will  forget  the  shock  of  death, 

That  laid  him  pale  and  low; 
And  sing  with  an  eternal  breath, 

His  victory  o'er  his  foe! 


148  EPITAPH. 

To  one  who  stands  with  armor  on, 

No  blow  can  come  amiss; — 
I'll  often  think  of  brother  John, 

And  pray  for  death'like  his! 

For  sudden  death,  a  sudden  sight 

Of  all  the  bliss  above; 
Th'  unbounded  and  effulgent  light, 

Of  the  Redeemer's  love! 

A  sudden  crown  of  endless  life, 

Is  placed  on  Em'ry's  head; 
O  let  me  thus  quit  ev'ry  strife, 

And  sink  among  the  dead! 

What  though  frail  flesh  shrink  from  the  thought, 

It  is  a  boon  so  high, 
That  if  we  lov'd  God  as  we  ought, 

We  would  not  fear  to  die! 

Admit  we  die  by  violence, 

The  sooner  is  it  o'er; 
And  heav'n  is  a  full  recompense; 

What,  would  we  ask  for  more? 


EPITAPH— ON   A    DRUNKARD. 

A  JOLLY  soul  lies  buried  here, 

For  this  poor  world  he  did  not  care; 

And  so  he  took  his  daily  glass, 

Till  he  was  stupid  as  an  ass! 

And  when  he  could  no  longer  hide 

His  shame,  he  could  not  drink — and  died! 


149 

TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  HENRY  CLAY. 

The  illustrious  Statesman  of  the  West. 

ILLUSTRIOUS  statesman!  let  my  humble  lays, 

A  patron  in  thy  lofty  talents  find; 
Or  shield  themselves  amid  the  tow'ring  blaze, 

Of  learning,  wit,  and  genius  so  refin'd; 
Then,  though  my  pinions  may  be  form'd  of  clay, 
My  muse  will  spread  her  plumes  and  soar  away! 

"The  harmonies  of  wide  creation"  join  • 
To  eulogize  the  man  of  real  worth; 

And  were  "the  music  of  the  morning"  mine, 
I'd  sing  that  Clay  is  of  ethereal  birth; 

To  him  I'd  dedicate  my  future  page, 

The  growing  glory  of  the  present  age! 


STANZAS. 

Occasioned  by  the  death  of  Mr.  J.  K.  who  died  of  the  Spasmodic 
Cholera,  September  16th,  1832. 

THOU  great  and  awful  God  of  all, 
Whose  thunders  shake  this  earthly  ball, 
In  mercy  view  our  helpless  state, 
And  send  us  help  before  too  late! 
We  cannot  live  beneath  thy  frown, 
And  if  thou  sendest  judgment  down, 
Our  feeble  frames  must  fail  and  die, 
Before  the  anger  of  thine  eye. 


150  EPITAPH  otf  A  TALKEK. 

Avert  thy  threatening  vengeance,  Lord; 
Our  souls  would  lean  upon  thy  word; 
Thou  art  our  safe-guard  and  our  tow'r, 
Our  strongest  hope  in  danger's  hour. 
We  would  acknowledge,  Lord,  with  pain, 
Too  long  have  we  let  folly  reign; 
•    But  now  in  earnest  we  begin 
,        To  eschew  every  darling  sin! 
O  hear  our  penitential  sighs, 
And  let  our  prayers  as  incense  rise, 
And  find  acceptance  at  thy  throne, 
Through  Jesus  Christ  thine  only  son. 
In  His  prevailing  name  we  pray, 
O  turn  the  pestilence  away; 
And  let  thy  all-reviving  breath 
Repair  the  moral  wastes  of  death. 
O  speak; — "Destroying  angel,  cease!" 
And  bless  our  land  with  health  and  peace; 
Then  shall  our  tongues  with  joy  confess, 
Thy  mercy  and  thy  righteousness. 
With  anxious  hearts  we  look  to  thee; 
Lord,  thou  alone  canst  set  us  free; 
For  thou  canst  peace  and  health  restore, 
And  bid  the  plague  return  no  more. 


EPITAPH— ON    A    GREAT    TALKER. 

HERE  a  loquacious  being  lies; 
We  hope  he  will  not  quickly  rise; 
For  he  has  seen  things  now  so  clever, 
His  tongue,  no  doubt,  would  run  forever! 


FAREWELL. 

TO    THE    REV.  W.  H*JSK. 

FAREWELL  my  brother  in  the  Lord, 
Your  face  no  more  I  soon  shall  see; 

When  far  from  this  you  preach  the  word, 
O,  sometimes  raise  a  prayer  for  ine! 

For  though  we  part  to  meet  no  more, 

I  hope  to  greet  you  on  that  shore. 

I've  pass'd  o'er  the  meridian  line; 

Fast  am  I  hast'ning  to  the  west; 
I  now  most  sensibly  decline, 

But  hope  to  rise  forever  blest; 
My  sun  shall  then  far  brighter  shine, 
And  all  its  beams  shall  be  divine. 

When  in  some  distant  place  confin'd, 
To  travel  your  repeated  round, 

Still  bear  your  faithful  friend  in  mind, 
As  you  proclaim  the  joyful  sound; 

For  O,  I'll  often  think  of  you 

And  pray  for  your  salvation  too? 

Adieu; — a  warm,  heart-felt  adieu; 

Though  in  some  place  remote  I  sigh, 
I'll  olten  breathe  a  prayer  for  you, 

And  send  my  wishes  to  the  sky; — 
That  God  may  keep  you  in  his  hand, 
And  bring  you  to  the  Promised  Land. 


152  EPITAPH. 

But  O, — J  cease — the  quivering  tear 
Now  dances  in  my  age-dimm'd  eye; 

I  know  my  friend  will  for  me  care; 
.Besides,  my  Great  Protector's  nigh; 

But  O,  a  minister  so  dear, 

Wrings  from  my  soul  the  glist'ning  tear. 

My  brother!  once  again  farewell! 

May  heaven  bless  your  family, 
And,  maugre  all  the  hosts  of  hell, 

In  heaven  I  hope  we  all  shall  be; 
Adieu,  dear  friend; — a  short  adieu; 
Should  you  go  first  I'll  follow  too! 

Until  that  joyful,  happy  day, 

In  patience  on  the  Lord  we  wait; 

Ere  long  we'll  drop  this  feeble  clay, 
And  change  our  present  mortal  state; 

Thus  when  our  last  great  change  shall  come, 

Our  Father  shall  convey  us  home. 

Then  let  each  rebel  murmur  die, 
Since  such  shall  be  our  happy  lot; 

Where  we  may  rove  beneath  the  sky, 
To  you  or  me  it  matters  not; 

On  sea,  on  land,  and  every  where, 

Our  heavenly  Father's  always  near. 


EPITAPH— ON  MISS  A.  DOVE. 

WHO  would  not  such  a  woman  love? — 
In  life  and  death  she  was  d.  Dove! 
This,  all  who  knew  her,  will  attest; 
We  hope  A.  Dove  is  now  at  rest. 


153 


STANZAS. 

Written  on  the  fall  of  general  Ross  at  North  Point,  in  Sept.  1814. 

SEE  what  laurels  wreathe  his  brow; 

But  they  all  are  stain'd  with  blood; 
Widows  wail  his  vict'ries  now, 

And  the  orphan  weeps  for  food. 

He  the  sanguin'd  field  hath  trod; 

Thousands  fall  before  his- face; 
Many  reverence  him  as  God; — 

But  his  meed  is  his  disgrace! 

• 
See  his  trophies  scattered  round; 

But  they -chill  the  heart  with  fear; 
Death-cries  issue  from  the  ground; — 
Ah,  no  friend  is  present  there! 

But  his  arm  shall  lose  its  might; 

He  must  meet  a  greater  foe; 
Should  he  gird  himself  for  h'ght, 

Yet  his  strength  shall  be  brought  low! 

See,  the  plume  that  deck'd  his  head; 

Falls,  unheeded,  on  the  sod; 
"O  my  God,"  he  cries,  "Pm  dead," — 

And  resigns  his  soul  to  God. 

To  the  fight  he  marched  alone; 

For  his  army  could  not  save; 
Of  his  host  there  was  not  one 

Who  could  shield  him  from  the  grave! 
14 


154  STANZAS, 

O!  it  was  a  dreadful  fight, 
And  the  cannon  roar'd  all  day, 

When  in  mist,  obscur'd  by  night, 
The  great  Ross  was  borne  away! 

See,  he  treads  the  vale  alone; 

Not  a  single  friend  is  there;  * 
Rod  nor  staff  can  help  him  on; 

Not  a  comforter  is  near! 

By  remorse,  perhaps,  assail'd, 
For  the  many  he  has  slain, 

All  his  minions  are  appall'd; 
O!  it  was  a  sick'ning  pain. 

"Ross  is  dead!" — a  fearful  sound! 

Who  shall  his  sad  requiem  sing? 
With  the  clods  his  head  is  crown'd;— 

Titles  are  a  useless  thing! 

Lord  or  gen'ral  matters  not; 

Now  his  buckler  is  a  shroud; 
See  yon  mournful,  narrow  spot, 

It  must  shield  the  heart  most  proud! 

His  fierce  spirit  spurns  its  clay, 
As  a  rampart  far  too  thin; 

Shiv'ring — trembling — flits  away — 
And  forsakes  its  house  of  sin. 

Near  the  brushwood  see  him  fall; 

He  has  lost  his  noblest  plume; 
Honors— they  forsake  him  all, 

There's  no  honor  in  the  tomb! 


155 


Though  his  legions  guard  the  place, 
None  his  spirit  shall  pursue; 

He  has  fallen  in  disgrace: 

Worms  shall  claim  him  as  Iheir  due! 

Could  we  move  the  veil  aside, 
Since  his  last  great  fight  is  o'er, 

We  should  see  a  scene  untried 
On  that  all  mysterious  shore! 

Senseless  mortals!  blame  me  not, 

If  I  cannot  shout  applaud; 
Let  his  sword  in  silence  rot; 

Ross  is  gone  to  meet  his  God! 

What  may  be  his  future  fate, 

Is  not  for  me  to  decide; — 
But — I  envy  not  the  great, — 

Hush,  contention!  silence,  pride! 

Glory  leads  but  to  the  grave; 

Honor  is  an  empty  breath; 
Both  are  bubbles  on  the  wave; — 

Give  me  glory  after  death!! 


'   EPITAPH— ON  A  NOTED  LIAR. 

HERE  lies  a  man  of  talents  rare; 
But,  reader,  pray  suppress  the  tear; 
His  talents  were  of  the  worst  kind, 
That  ever  plagued  a  man  of  mind: — 
The  neighbors  will  refrain  from  crying; 
For  his  were  talents  for  great  lying. 


156 


LEADER  OF  JOSEPH. 

LEADER  of  Joseph,Lbe  my  guide, 
Nor  let  my  wand'ring  footsteps  stray; 

Still  o'er  my  faithless  heart  preside, 
And  keep  me  in  the  narrow  way; 

The  way  to  bliss  that  never  cloys, 

Substantial,  pure,  eternal  joys. 

If  rough  and  thorny  be  the  road, 
Help  me  to  cast  on  thee  my  care; 

And  travel  in  thy  strength,  my  God, 
Until  I  meet  my  brethren  there; 

My  brethren  who  were  crucified 

To  sin,  and  in  thy  service  died. 

Thine  ancient  flock  have  gain'd  their  rest, 
But  other  sheep  are  coming  on; 

They  pant  for  shelter  near  thy  breast, 

To  screen  them  from  the  burning  sun; 
*  There  in  the  shade  of  thy  pierc'd  side, 

With  all  thy  sheep  would  I  abide. 

I  love  the  pastures  where  they  graze; 

Their  steps  I,  at  a  distance,  see; 
There  a  broad  stream  of  water  plays; 

It  rises,  Lord,  in  springs  from  Thee; 
And  while  those  springs  of  comfort  roll, 
They  satisfy  my  thirsty  soul. 


LEADER   OF   JOSEPH.  157 

Through  all  the  desert  way  they  glide, 

Refreshing  ev'ry  weary  mind; 
With  Thee,  my  shepherd,  by  my  side, 

My  soul  shall  peace  and  safety  find; 
And  richest  blessings  shall  distil 
Upon  thy  sheep  from  Z ion's  hill.. 

Contending  for  my  native  heaven, 

With  songs  to  Zion  I  return; 
Through  Thee  most  graciously  forgiven, 

I  bless  the  day  that  I  was  born; — 
Born  to  receive  a  seoond  birth, 
And  triumph  in  thy  name  on  earth. 

I  long  to  gain  that  blissful  seat, 

Where  deck'd  in  glory,  sits  my  King, 

And  with  ten  thousands  at  His  feet, 
In  holy  strains  of  reverence  sing — 

"Worthy  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain; 

Reign  King  of  saints  and  nations  reign!" 

O  when  shall  I  the  goal  attain? 

When  drop  this  cumb'rous  frame  of  clay 
And  bow  my  head  with  thee  to  reign, 

And  rise  to  everlasting  day? 
My  soul  in  haste,  cries  "Come,  Lord,  come, 
And  rend  the  heavens,  and  take  me  home." 

O  throw  this  crazy  world  aside, 

And  lead  me  with  thy  little  flock, 
To  streams  of  water  deep  and  wide, 

Proceeding  from  th'  eternal  rock; 
The  rock  of  my  salvation  be, 

And  let  me  find  my  heaven  in  Thee, 
14* 


158 


INVOCATION  TO   RELIGION. 

RELIGION,  sweet  and  heavenly  form, 
Thou  bow  of  promise  in  the  storm; 
Thou  bendest  o'er  the  gulf  of  death, 
Thou  reachest  to  the  world  beneath. 

O  come  and  make  ine  thine  abode; 
Fill  me  with  all  the  life  of  God; 
The  mystic  union  let  me  prove, 
And  saturate  my  soul  with  love! 

Then  I  shall  death  itself  outbrave, 
And  smiling  pass  the  gloomy  grave; 
Religion  gives  the  victory; 
The  glory,  Lord,  belongs  to  thee! 


GOOD  FRIDAY,  1835. 

SEE!  my  Lord  and  Savior  dies; 
Hearken  to  His  mournful  cries; 
Men  and  angels  hear  the  Son, 
Hear  that  strange  expiring  groan! 

God,  the  Savior,  bows  His  head; 
Lo!  He  sinks  among  the  dead! 
Nature  mourns  his  agonies, 
Darkness  shrouds  the  earth  and  skies! 

Burst,  my  unaffected  heart; 
Jesus  bears  thy  painful  smart; 


THIS    WORLD    A    DREARY    WILDERNESS.  159 

Jesus  groans  and  dies  for  thee; 
What  more  could  he  do  for  me? 

Lord,  before  thy  cross  I  bow; 
O  accept  my  ofFring  now; 
Let  me  all  my  sins  deplore, 
Go,  believe,  and  sin  no  more! 


THIS  WORLD  A  DREARY  WILDERNESS. 

THIS  world's  a  dreary  wild  at  best, 

Where  savage  spirits  roam; 
But  heaven  is  a  place  of  rest, 

Arid  ray  eternal  home. 

Thither  my  longing  soul  would  rise; 

My  Great  High  Priest  is  there; 
There  shall  I  have  unclouded  skies, 

And  joys  without  a  tear. 

O!  might  I  gain  that  happy  place; 

To  this  my  soul  aspires; 
This  large,  unpleasant  wilderness, 

Suits  not  my  vast  desires. 

Come,  O  my  Savior  and  my  God, 

Reveal  thyself  in  me; 
Shed  in  my  heart  thy  love  abroad, 

And  make  me  Lord,  like  thee. 

Thus  shall  I  best  proclaim  thy  praise, 

When  by  thy  grace  I  move; 
My  soul  shall  sing  thy  righteousness, 

And  taste  thy  perfect  love. 


160 


PRAISE  FOR  PAST  BLESSINGS    AND  REJOIC- 
ING WITH  TREMBLING. 

PRAISE  ye  the  Lord!  Praise  Him  my  soul; 
Loud  let  the  deep-toned  anthem  roll; 
Dwell  on  his  love  with  glad  acclaim, 
And  shout  hosannahs  to  His  name, 

O  may  iny  daily  thanks  arise, 
As  holy  incense  to  the  skies; 
And  let  my  joyful  heart  record 
The  tender  mercies  of  my  Lord. 

When  buried  deep  in  shame  and  sin, 
He  reached  his  arms  and  took  me  in; 
Forgave  my  sins  and  made  me  whole, 
And  stamped  his  image  on  my  soul. 

0  may  this  truth  be  e-er  impressed, 
In  lines  eternal  on  my  breast; 
And  let  me  ne'er  so  foolish  be 

To  rove  again,  good  Lord,  from  thee. 

But  can  my  soul  when  once  renewed, 
Be  fill'd  with  vile  ingratitude? 
Turn  from  the  living  way  again, 
And  thus  transfix  my  soul  with  pain? 

Yes,  Lord! — my  heart  is  prone  to  stray 
And  walk  in  the  forbidden  wa}^; 
Ten  thousand  snares  beset  me  round, 

1  feel  I  tread  on  hostile  ground! 


BUT    ONE    FRIEND. 

Great  God,  thy  timely  grace  impart, 
Direct  my  feet  and  shield  iny  heart; 
Preserve  me  from  each  hidden  snare, 
And  may  I  find  thee  always  near! 

Thou  art  my  hope,  thou  art  my  stay; 
O  lead  me  all  the  doubtful  way; 
And  if  the  prize  I  should  attain, 
The  glory,  Lord,  be  thine! — Amen. 


NONE  BUT  ONE  FRIEND. 

I  SAW  two  clouds  at  early  dawn, — 

How_brilliant  to  the  eye! 
Ting'd  with  the  rising  vernal  sun, 

They  mingled  in  the  sky: 
Their  edges  skirted  were  with  gold, 
A  sight  most  pleasant  to  behold; 
But,  lo!  a  large  dark  cloud  came  o'er, 
And  I  could  see  those  clouds  no  more. 

I  saw  two  summer  currents  "roll; — 

How  smoothly  did  they  flow! 
As  one  they  tended  to  their  goal, — 

The  ocean  far  below: 
Their  dimpling  eddies  past  away; 
Their  streams  were  cover'd  by  a  spray; 
For  lo!  the  floods  began  to  rise, 
And  dash'd  their  surges  tow'rds  the  skies. 

Such  is  man's  friendship  in  this  vale, 

This  wilderness  of  strife, 
Where  ills,  by  thousands,  oft  assail, 
And  much  embitter  life: 


162 


But  we  may  have  a  friend  above, 
Who  never  slights  our  faintest  love; 
O  let  me  make  this  friend  my  care, 
That  I  may  have  his  friendship  there] 


TEKEL, 

Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting.    Or  the  sin 
•  of  profane  swearing. 

BOLD  is  the  wretch  who  can  defy 
The  threatening  vengeance  of  the  sky; 
Provoke  His  ire  and  blindly  dare 
By  the  Eternal  Name  to  swear. 
Presumptuous  man!  thy  thoughts  are  weigh'd; 
Thy  words  are  in  the  balance  laid! 
See,  Justice  lifts  the  scale  on  high, 
And  thou  art  now  condemn'd  to  die! 

"Who  takes  my  holy  name  in  vain, 
Is  justly  doom'd  to  endless  pain; 
Nothing  relieves  his  soul  from  guilt, 
But  that  dear  blood  my  Son  has  spilt!5' 
Go,  helpless,  hopeless  sinner,  go, 
If  thou  would'st  shun  eternal  wo, 
Fall,  low  before  his  mercy  seat, 
His  goodness  may  forgive  thee  yet! 

Lord,  pardon  our  past  sin  and  shame, 
That  we  so  little  fear  thy  name; 
And  though  provoked  may  we  not  dare, 
To  use  thy  name  without  thy  fear. 
O  may  we  guard  each  thought  and  word, 
Lest  we  offend  thee,  holy  Lord; 
And  may  our  language  all  proclaim, 
That  we  adore  thy  precious  name. 


163 


THE    CRUCIFIXION,    RESURRECTION, 
ASCENSION,  &c. 

DESCRIBED    IN   A    NEW    WAY. 

« 

I  ASK'D  the  EARTH:— "Who  did  tbis  horrid  deed? 
Who  caus'd  the  precious  Son  of  God  to  bleed?" 
It  quak'd — and  with  a  hollow  groan  it  lied, 
And  wrapp'd  itself  in  darkest  midnight  shade! 

I  ask'  the  SUN: — His  chariot  started  back, 
.;  And  he  forsook  his  long,  his  golden  track; 
And,  with  a  frown,  he  made  me  this  reply; — 
"I  could  not  stand  and  see  my  Maker  die!" 

I  ask'd  the  TEMPLE'S  VAIL: — It  rent  in  twain, 
-    So  that  it  could  not  be  restored  again; 
And  as  if  more  than  ever  yet  afraid, 
The  Holy  of  the  Holies  it  display 'd! 

I  ask'd  the  ROCKS: — They,  rending,  made  reply — 
"The  holy  Jesus  is  about  to  die; 
We  cannot  stand  such  an  uncommon  shock, 
And  he  that  can  is  harder  than  the  rock!" 

I  ask'd  the  GRAVE: — But,  ah!  she  seem'd  bereft; 
Her  sleeping  treasure  had  her  bosom  left; 
But  yawning,  loud  she  cried: — "I've  lost  my  prey — 
It  seems  as  if  'twere  Resurrection  Day!" 

I  ask'd  the  OCEAN: — But  with  awful  roar, 
He  cast  his  oozy  inmates  on  the  shore; 
And  as  his  foaming  billows  died  away, 
He  thurider'd — "Must  I  too  give  up  my  prey?" 


164  THE    CRUCIFIXION. 

I  look'd — and,  lo,  I  saw  a  ghastly  sight, — 
Th'  appearance  of  the  form  filPd  me  with  fright; 
Gnashing  his  teeth — his  glaring  eyeballs  rolPd, 
And  the  confusion  of  his  bosom  told — 
His  name  was  DEATH: — And  as  I  lent  an  ear, 
Methought  these  words  distinctly  I  could  hear: — 
"Spite  of  the  Prince  of  Life,  I'll  use  my  pow'r, 
And  gorge  my  maw  before  the  destin'd  hour!" 

I  ask'd  of  HELL: — But  he  made  this  reply: — 
"I  dread  the  lightning  of  Messiah's  eye, — 
For  I  foresee  my  ruin  in  his  fall, 
I  must  give  up  my  dead,  both  great  and  small!" 

I  ask'd  of  LUCIFER: — With  thunder  scarr'd, 
His  brazen  front  tow'rds  heav'n  he  rear'd — 
And  roar'd: — "Lost!  lost  is  my  all-conq'ring  shield, 
Immanuel  now  maintains  the  sanguin'd  field: 
His  hands  have  routed  man's  infernal  foe, 
And  Death  and  Hell  shall  mourn  the  fatal  blow, — 
The  flaming  sword  is  sprinkPd  with  His  blood, 
And  all  who  will  believe  are  sons  of  God!" 

1  ask'd  the  LIGHTNINGS,  flashing  through  the  void:- 
"What  wicked  hands  the  Prince  of  Life  destroy'd!" 
They  tlmnder'd  with  sublime,  tremendous  roar: — 
"We  never  heard  of  deed  so  vile  before!" 

I  ask'd  of  MAN: — With  malice  in  his  eye, 
He  shook  his  head,  and  made  this  bold  reply: 
"  'Twas  I  who  put  God's  only  Son  to  pain, 
And  were  he  living,  he  should  die  again!!!" 

I  ask'd  the  TEMPESTS, — and  the  forests  bow'd — 
The  mountains  roar'd,  and  the  reply  was  loud — 
And  as  careering  whirlwinds  by  me  pass'd, 
They  yell'd— "What  will  become  of  man  at  last?" 


THE   CRUCIFIXION.  165 

Wifh  trembling  I  approach'd  the  awful  One: — 
"What  shall  for  man,  rebellious  man,  be  done?" 
He  cast  a  look  upon  His  holy  child, 
And  said— "Behold  in  HIM  God  reconcil'd!" 

I  ask'd  the  Jlngels,  bending  from  the  sky, 
As  on  the  dying  God  they  cast  an  eye — 
They  shouted — "Hail!  the  Lamb  for  sinners  slain! 
He  lives!  he  lives!  and  shall  forever  reign!" 

I  ask'd  of  Thrones  and  Principalities, 
And  Seraphs  in  their  various  high  degrees — 
They  all  began,  without  one  jarring  chord, 
To  sing  loud  hallelujahs  to  the  Lord." 

I  ask'd  the  sacred  spirits  of  the  just, 
Who  at  his  resurrection  left  the  dust; 
When  with  a  thund'ring  voice  they  struck  the  lyre, 
And  notes  immortal  set  my  soul  on  fire! 

I  ask'd  the  ELDERS  who  stand  midst  the  throne, 
When  with  a  deep,  but  reverential  tone, 
They  cast  their  glittering  glory  at  his  feet, 
And  heav'ns  symphonies  appear'd  complete! 

I  would  have  ask'd  the  living  creatures  four, 
But,  prostrate  in  His  presence,  they  adore, — 
And,  with  a  sep'rate  and  united  voice, 
The  whole  of  that  unnumber'd  host  rejoice. 

But  as  I  bow'd  myself  at  Jesu's  feet, 
I  fell,  o'erwhelm'd,  beneath  his  mercy-seat — 
And  since  I've  learn'd  that  Jesus  is  their  song, 
"All  hail  the  Lamb!"  I'll  sing — and  march  along! 
For  if  I  learn  that  heav'nly  music  here, 
I  shall  sing  better  to  my  Savior  there; 
Where  nothing  I  need  ask,  as  I  shall  know, 
All  I  desired  for  my  good  below. 
15 


166 


DEFINITION   OF  TIME. 

TO  A    YOUNG    LADY. 

TIME,  pray  tell  me,  what  thou  art? 

Pause  in  great  eternity? 
Thou  surroundest  ev'ry  part 

Of  myself,  the  earth,  and  sea. 

Not  six  thousand  years  ago, 
As  the  Book  of  Books  has  told, 

Thou  wast  but  in  embryo, 
Or  with  chaos  wast  enroll'd. 

From  this  dark  and  formless  mass 
Order  from  confusion  sprung; 

Trees  were  seen,  and  herbs,  and  grass; 
Then,  O  time!  was  heard  thy  tongue. 

When  the  joyful  sons  of  God 

Shouted  o'er  this  rising  ball, 
Ere  yet  men  its  face  had  trod, 

Thou,  O  time!  didst  hear  the  call. 

At  Jehovah's  potent  word 
Thou  didst  roll  thy  noisy  car; 

Thou  obeyest  nature's  Lord; 
For  His  way  thou  dost  prepare. 

Time! — thy  days,  thy  months,  thy  years, 

Are  a  measurement  of  thee; 
But  when  all  those  pond'rous  spheres 

Fall,  then  thou  shalt  cease  to  be! 


167 


But  there  is  a  time  to  all, 

From  the  first  man  to  the  last; 
But  when  Gabriel  gives  the  call, 

All  time  yields  before  the  blast. 

* 
All  will  be  eternity, 

As  though  thou  hadst  not  begun; 
And  in  one  broad  even  sea, 

That  eternity  shall  run. 

Then  time,  tell  me,  what  thou  art? 

Fragment  stretch 'd  from  shore  to  shore? 
Of  eternity  a  part, 

Part  that's  past,  and  part  before? 

Time,  I've  seen  thy  pictured  face, 

On  the  dial,  in  the  sun; 
Through  the  clock  and  watch's  glass, 

I  have  seen  thy  moments  run. 

Sarah  Ann,  thou  hast  a  time; 

'Tis  that  portion  God  has  given, 
To  abstain  from  ev'ry  crime, 

And  prepare  thy  soul  for  heaven. 

O  improve  the  fleeting  space; 

Time  is  not — I  speak — 'tis  past! 
Life's  the  only  time  of  grace; 

Who  can  say  how  long  'twill  last? 


EPITAPH— ox  A  TAILOR. 

Here  lies  a  man  who  used  the  shears, 
And  cabbaged  much  for  many  years; 
But  here  his  cabbaging  is  past; 
For  death  has  cabbag'd  him  at  last! 


168 

LINES. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  GILBERT  MOTIER  DE  LA  FAYETTE. 

IF  worth  unsullied  may  demand  a  tear, 

Columbia,  drop  it  o'er  La  Fayette's  bier; 

The  friend  of  France— and  thine!  resigns  his  breath; 

His  val'rous  arm  is  palsied  now  in  death! 

The  bosom-friend  of  the  great  Washington, 

His  brilliant  course  on  earth  has  fully  run; 

His  laurels  early  bloomed; — they  ne'er  shall  fade, 

But  as  an  endless  halo  crown  his  head. 

La  Fayette!  man  of  an  uncommon  mould, 

The  warrior  firm,  and  as  a  lion  bold; 

A  patriot  too  of  no  inferior  cast — 

His  well-earn 'd  fame  long  as  the  sun  shall  last. 

Disinterested,  benev'lent,  and  brave, 

His  money  was  disburs'd  our  land  to  save: 

Through  a  long  sanguinary  term  he  fought, 

To  gain  the  liberty  our  country  sought. 

Columbia's  faithful,  true,  and  well  tried  friend, 

Thy  path  was  luminous,  and  calm  thy  end: 

Long,  long  her  rising  offspring  shall  deplore, 

The  man  whose  visits  grace  our  land  no  more. 

La  Fayette!  France's  highest,  latest  boast, — 

Our  country's  theme — her  universal  toast; — 

Death  vaunts  in  thee  no  common  victim  slain— 

Its  realms  shall  never  hold  such  pomp  again! 

No  more  thine  arm  shall  hurl  the  bolt  of  war, 

Nor  shall  thy  valor  roll  fair  freedom's  car; 

But  thou  shalt  live  immortal  as  thy  sire, 

When  all  sublunar  grandeur  shall  expire. 


LINES,  169 

In  tracing  thy  career,  we  joy  to  find, 

The  new  philosophy*  stain'd  not  thy  mind, 

Thou  wast  of  nobler  cast;  and  thy  great  soul 

Was  destin'd  for  no  sordid,  sensual  goal. 

O  might  thy  mantle  on  the  nations  fall! 

How  soon  would  they  be  loosen'd  from  their  thrall! 

One  grand  republic  then  would  greet  our  eyes, 

And  freedom's  temples  glitter  to  the  skies! 

Adieu,  La  Fayette!  peaceful  be  thy  bed; 

Let  no  rude  tyrant  o'er  thy  relics  tread; 

A  nation's  tears  thy  mem'ry  shall  bedew, 

And  teach  her  sons  thy  footsteps  to  pursue. 

Retain,  O  Piepas,  thy  sacred  trust, 

Till  God's  own  voice  reanimates  his  dust; 

That  day  his  merits  fairly  shall  unfold, 

Emblazon'd  high— more  lustrous  than  the  gold. 


LINES, 

Written  on  reading  in  the  Christian  Advocate  and  Journal  and 
Zion's  Herald  of  the  conversion  of  the  Indians. 

THE  shadows  of  midnight  recede  from  the  suii; 
The  demon  of  error  now  hastes  to  be  gone; 
The  gospel  is  pouring  its  beams  on  the  west, 
And  hundreds  of  natives  are  graciously  blest. 

The  Red  Men  have  laid  all  their  paw-waws  aside; 
They  seek  for  their  wisdom  from  Christ  crucified; 
With  transport  the  Savior  of  all  they  embrace, 
And  feel  that  He  died  for  the  whole  human  race. 

*La  Fayette,  like  Washington,  was  a  believer  of  the  Bible. 
15* 


170  JOB'S    BIRTH-DAY. 

O  what  has  the  God  of  the  Indians  done! 

He  cements  the  white,  red,  and  black  all  in  one; 

Though  diff 'rent  in  language  and  color  they  be, 

They  speak  but  one  language  when  Christ  sets  them  free! 

Grape  Island  and  Rice  Lake  redemption  have  found, 
The  Red  Men  on  Simcoe  have  heard  the  glad  sound; 
Mississaugahs  and  Mohawks  adore  Jesu's  name; 
The  Six  Nations  too  the  glad  tidings  proclaim. 

O  Jesus,  ride  on!  and  the  nations  subdue; 

The  savages  all  of  the  forests  renew; 

To  moles  and  to  bats  all  their  idols  be  giv'n, 

And  through  the  wide  world,  Lord,  diffuse  gospel  leav'n. 


JOB'S  BIRTH-DAY. 

BIRTH-DAY!  be  thou  black  as  the  darkest  midnight, 
Envelop'd  in  shades  and  depriv'd  of  all  light; 
Let  the  sun  be  withdrawn,  and  the  shadow  of  death, 
Cast  a  stain  on  the  moment  that  first  gave  me  breath. 

Birth-day!  be  thou  clouded  with  heaviest  gloom; 
Let  not  the  Lord  count  it  with  years  still  to  come; 
And  O,  let  the  darkness  bring  fear  on  that  day, 
While  yet  as  a  speck  I  in  embryo  lay! 

Birth-day!  be  thou  darker  than  ever  before; 

Let  midnight  increase  that  great  darkness  still  more; 

The  day  be  forgotten,  the  night  be  forlorn, 

In  which  it  was  said  that  a  man-child  was  born! 


171 


Birth-day!  be  not  join'd  to  the  days  of  the  year; 
In  numbering  months  may  it  never  appear; 
The  voice  of  rejoicing  be  banish'd  afar, 
And  twilight  refuse  to  discover  a  star! 

Birth-day!   let  it  look,  but  in  vain,  for  the  light; 

0  day!  never  dawn  on  that  horrible  night; 
Because  when  I  came  from  my  dear  mother's  womb, 

1  was  not  received  by  the  mouth  of  the  tomb! 


STANZAS. 

On  the  triumphant  death  of  Mrs.  JANE  FOSTER,  companion  of  Dr. 
Foster,  of  Shepherdstown,  Va. 

TRIUMPHANT  saint!  thy  days  are  number'd  now, 

And  youth  eternal  decks  thy  deathless  brow; 

Well  hast  thou  fought!  the  victory  is  gain'd, 

A  fadeless  crown  thou  hast  through  faith  obtained! 

I  saw  thy  fragile  form  to  earth  convey'd, 

And  low  in  yonder  wid'ning  grave-yard  laid; 

Angels  are  there! — they  watch  thy  sleeping  dust, 

Until  the  resurrection  of  the  just. 

Rest,  happy  saint,  nor  let  one  foot  intrude 

Upon  thy  last,  thy  sacred  solitude, — 

Unless  the  friends,  who  breathe  the  earnest  sigh, 

"Lord,  make  us  all,  like  Jane,  prepar'd  to  die!" 

Hark!  'tis  the  last  loud  clang'rous  trump  I  hear — 

The  dead  awake — behold,  behold  the  Judge  appear; 

Ten  thousand  angels  guard  his  shining  throne, 

To  make  his  justice  and  his  glory  known! 


172  ADDRESS    TO    AMERICANS. 

See  now  he  turns  to  those  on  his  right  hand, 

A  favor'd  few — but  yet — a  countless  band! 

With  smiles  that  gladden  heav'n,  he  speaks — "Arise, 

Enter,  ye  blest,  into  my  Father's  joys!" 

See — Jane  is  there, — she  joins  the  dazzling  train, 

And  mounts  aloft,  with  Jesus  long  to  reign;— 

Ye  everlasting  doors,  be  lifted  high,— 

The  heir  of  glory  lives  no  more  to  die! 


ADDBESS  TO  AMERICANS. 

ON    THE    LATE    MOBS. 

YE  Sons  of  Columbia,  the  land  of  the  brave, 

Shall  we  to  vile  passions  submit,  like  a  slave? 

Break  over  the  mounds  that  fair  freedom  enclose, 

And  firmly  unite  with  her  bitterest  foes? 

What  demon  the  cities  and  towns  has  possess'd, 

That  bloodshed  and  murder  have  both  rais'd  their  crest? 

That  wasting  and  vi'lence  are  seen,  felt,  and  heard, 

By  conscience,  nor  honor,  nor  inercy  deterr'd? 

Shall  scenes  so  disgraceful  involve  us  at  home, 

And  outrages  barefac'd  through  all  the  land  roam? 

Ah!  where  is  the  spirit  of  liberty  now, 

When  all  law  and  justice  to  mobs  have  to  bow? 

Ye  lovers  of  freedom  in  phalanx  appear, — 

In  one  solid  column  her  standard  now  rear, — 

Bid  violence  cease,  and  the  outlaws  be  still, 

And  make  them  submit  to  peace,  order,  good  will! 

Let  rights  be  respected,  and  law  have  her  sway, — 

Be  sovereign  her  mandates — let  none  disobey, — 


ADDRESS    TO    AMERICANS.  173 

For  if  to  disorder  and  rapine  we  yield, 

Then  farewell  to  freedom! — She  flies  from  the  field! 

And  shall  we  supinely  thus  stand  and  look  on, 

Until  ev'ry  vestige  of  liberty's  gone? 

Rouse,  rouse  from  your  slumbers,  and  put  down  the  fool, 

Who  leads  on  the  rabble  'gainst  order  and  rule! 

Say,  shall  the  grand  fabric  our  fathers  have  built, 

Be  darken'd  by  crime,  and  discolored  by  guilt? 

Shall  clubs,  stones,  and  brickbats,  the  law  of  the  day, 

Reign  over  our  sea-ports  with  such  a  wide  sway? 

Then  vainly  indeed  did  our  forefathers  toil, 

And  pour  out  their  blood,  which  has  fatten'd  the  soil, 

If  we,  their  late  offspring,  want  valor  enough, 

To  drive  freedom's  foes,  or  "to  die  by  the  stuff!" 

Wake  up — ye  espousers  of  order  and  law, 

In  liberty's  cause  the  broad-sword  let  us  draw; 

If  men  will  rush  madly  on  order — then  steel 

Is  all  on  the  earth  that  can  make  the  fools  feel! 

Yes — were  he  a  brother,  his  heart's  blood  must  pay, 

Ere  he  should  fling  order  and  justice  away; 

Protect  the  defenceless — the  innocent  shield — 

But  drive  both  banditti  and  mobs  from  the  field. 

Ye  good  honest  yeomen,  the  guard  of  the  land, 

'Tis  time  you  reflect,  and  take  matters  in  hand; 

From  vaulting  ambition  the  sceptre  now  wrest, 

And  all  things  together  shall  work  for  the  best. 

Be  firm  and  decided — for  UNION  declare — 

Your  own  peace  and  safety  forever  lie  there; 

"Divided  we  fall,"  is  a  motto  most  just; 

"United  we  stand,"  was  great  Washington's  trust. 

'Twas  union  that  planted  our  liberty  here, 

And  all  the  great  blessings  we  freemen  hold  dear; 


174  A   JUST    THOUGHT. 

And  now,  when  the  tree  yields  us  such  wholesome  fruit, 

Sh  all  we  blast  its  verdure,  and  dig  up  the  root? 

There's  no  love  of  country  in  deeds  of  such  kind, 

And  those  who  can't  see  it  must  be  very  blind; 

For  int'rest,  or  party,  or  passion  must  reign, 

And  all  their  most  specious  pretensions  are  vain. 

There  are  numbers  who  tell  us  they  seek  for  our  good; 

But  let  this  be  always  by  works  understood; 

Words  cost  but  a  trifle;  but  works  shall  stand  fast, 

And  prove  what  they  say  is  not  merely  a  blast. 

Remember  the  sages  who  sketch'd  out  the  plan, 

So  fraught  with  benev'lence  and  good-will  to  man; 

They  said  and  they  acted, — the  fabric  remains, — 

Let  us  keep  possession — 'twill  pay  for  the  pains! 

Discard  office  -hunters  and  curtail  the  pay, 

Of  those  who  are  making  eight  dollars  per  day; 

Bring  down  the  proud  looks  of  those  now  much  too  high, 

And  show  them  that  merit  true  honor  will  buy. 

Columbians  rally;  to  th'  Union  prove  true; 

Let  not  arch-seducers  your  country  undo; 

Lest  when  'tis  too  late  ye  your  folly  should  see, 

And  curse  the  abettors  of  foul  anarchy. 


A  JUST  THOUGHT,  AND  A  SOLEMN  ONE. 

How  oft  we  dance  and  trifle, 

And  dilly-dally  too; 
Ourselves  of  time  we  rifle, 

And  say  we've  nought  to  do! 
But,  ah,  if  death  should  find  us, 

.  We  shall  have  no  excuse! 

And  judgment  will  remind  us, 

Of  time's  past  vile  abuse/ 


175 


A  VERY  TOUGH  CASE! 

Of  all  the  plagues  that  bitter'd  Pharaoh's  life, 
There  was  not  one  could  match  a  grumbling  wife; 
A  murm'ring  and  a  discontented  mind, 
That  dwells  on  matters  many  years  behind; 
And  were  the  gordion  knot  once  more  untied, 
None  of  the  sex  should  ever  be  my  bride! 

I  pity  him  who  has  a  hobbling  gait, 

A  gouty  foot,  or  badly  scalded  pate! 

And  if  a  man  were  troubled  with  the  itch, 

Or  scrofulous  complaint — no  matter  which — 

I  would  commiserate  his  case  as  being  sad; — 

But,  O!  a  grumbling  wife  is  twice  as  bad! 

Some  have  from  the  malignant  chol'ra  fled, 
And  mourn'd  for  relatives  but  lately  dead; 
But  from  dissatisfaction,  pain,  and  grief, 
It  shortly  gives  the  suff'rer  full  relief, 
But  if  I'm  wedded  to  a  grumbling  wife, 
This  plague  attends  me  all  along  through  life! 

If  for  some  moments  you  would  wish  repose, 
To  rid  your  thoughts  of  life-assailing  woes, 
The  woman  now  begins  with  some  complaint, 
Enough  to  rend  the  feelings  of  a  saint! — 
With  nature,  men,  and  things  she  seems  at  strife; 
No  man  is  happy  with  a  grumbling  wile. 


176  A   TOUGH    CASE. 

It  may  be  for  awhile  her  tongue  is  still; 

But  this,  alas!  will  but  increase  the  ill; 

For  now  her  smothered  wrath  breaks  out  at  last! 

And  then  the  poor  man  gets  a  horrid  blast; — 

She  tells  of  hardships  she  must  bear  for  life, 

And  blames  the  day  that  she  became  his  wife! 

She  wishes  she  had  never  married  one 
That  ever  walked  beneath  the  rising  sun; 

Or  had  she  married  Mr. ,  no  odds  who! — 

She  might  have  been  a  lady  fit  to  view; —  • 
But,  O!  her  hands  are  spoil'd — a  thing  most  sad! 
Her  husband  is  possess'd  of  morals  bad! 

He  has  no  management  and  no  foresight; 
Were  she  a  man,  she'd  set  all  matters  right; — 
And  thus  she  broods  o'er  forty  different  things, 
Of  which  the  muse  grows  tired  as  she  sings; 
With  all  on  earth  her  mind's  at  perfect  strife! 
Who  can  be  happy  with  a  grumbling  wife? 

Perhaps  you  feel  disposed  at  this  to  laugh; 
But,  ah!  my  honest  friend,  you  know  not  half; 
To  be  accused  of  trifles  is  but  small; — 
But  wait  with  patience  till  you  hear  it  all; 
"You  murder  me  by  inches!"  is  the  cry; 
"A  pity  you  were  not  prepared  to  die!" 

If  you  want  help  in  matters  though  but  small, — 
"Where  are  your  maids? — let  them  obey  your  call; 
I  did  not  marry  you  to  be  your  slave; 
*T would  be  no  odds  if  you  were  in  your  grave;'5 
The  man  disgusted  turns  from  wordy  strife, 
And  sighs  to  find  he  has  a  grumbling  wife! 


THE    DRUNKEN    HUSBAND.  177 

His  ears  are  fill'd  with  sad  and  sore  complaints, 
At  thoughts  of  \vhich  the  strongest  spirit  faints; 
He  turns,  poor  man!  but  cannot  break  his  chain, 
And  it  is  worse  than  fruitless  to  complain; — 
Ah!  were  I  free  from  such  detested  strife, 
No  woman  living  e'er  should  be  my  wife! 


THE  DRUNKEN  HUSBAND— OR  THE  WIFE'S  wo. 

OF  all  the  curses  in  the  land, 
The  drunkard  must  the  foremost  stand, 
And  of  all  men  on  earth  accurs'd, 
The  drunken  husband  is  the  worst. 

He  comes  home  in  the  dark  of  night, 
For  like  a  thief,  he  hates  the  light, 
Falls  on  the  partner  of  his  life, 
And  beats  his  children  and  his  wife. 

He  scowls  and  mutters  all  day  long; 
For  every  thing  he  sees  is  wrong; 
Until  he  gets  another  bowl, 
And  brutalizes  all  his  soul. 

He  swallows  down  the  fiery  grog, 
Until  he  vomits  like  a  dog; 
And,  as  a  swine,  he  wallows  too 
In  some  quagmire,  or  in  his  spew! 

At  night  he  staggers  home  again, 
Through  frost,  or  snow,  or  sleet,  or  rain; 
Again  renews  his  former  strife, 

And  drives  his  children  and  his  wil^' 
16 


178  THE    DRUNKEN   HUSBAND. 

His  breath's  affected  by  his  drink; 
He  smells  as  strong  as  an  old  mink; 
Tell  me,  how  any  woman  can 
Love  such  a  wretched,  filthy  man! 

Some  times  he  lies  down  in  his  boots, 
Or  shoes — as  inclination  suits, — 
Then — vomits  all  about  the  floor — 
^Just  as  he  did  the  night  before! 

Who  pities  not  th'  unhappy  wife, 
That's  doom'd  to  live  with  him  for  life? 
Who  can  with  such  a  monster  live? 
What  name  should  we  this  demon  give? 

But  half  the  picture  is  not  drawn; — 
He  drinks  till  debts  and  duns  come  on; 
And  yet  the  savage  thirsts  for  more, 
Although  the  sheriff's  at  his  door! 

But  what  is  worse  than  all  I've  said, 
His  family  are  meanly  fed; 
And  though  his  thirst  the  larder  drains, 
Yet  dry,  dry,  dry  he  still  remains. 

He  drinks  up  money,  health  and  fame, 
And  stamps  a  stigma  on  his  name; 
But  still  he  thinks  "a  dram"  no  harm, 
Although  he  swallows  a  whole  farm! 

To  bring  the  drawing  to  the  worst, 
Such  his  insatiable  thirst, 
Could  he  his  children  all  distil, 
And  wife — he'd  gulp  them  gill  by  gill! 


THE    SLEIGH    RIDE-  179 

As  if  bound  by  some  witching  spell, 
Resolv'd  to  rush  headlong  to  hell, 
He  drinks  up  all  about  the  house, 
Until  as  poor  as  the  church  mouse! 

When  ev'ry  social  bliss  expires, 
And  comfort  from  his  house  retires, 
He  acts  for  once,  a  part  most  wise, — 
He  drinks — "another  dram"— and  dies! 


THE  SLEIGH  RIDE. 

A    PICTURE    FROM    REAL    LIFE. 

Now  see  the  young  people! — they  hitch  up  the  sleigh; 
Crack,  crack  goes  the  whip,  and  old  Dobbin's  away; 
How  merry  the  crowd,  and  how  giddy  they  go, 
While  the  horses  are  straining  through  mire  and  snow, 
The  night  is  inviting; — Sam's  spirits  are  high, 
He  drives  here  and  there,  and  he  hardly  knows  why; 
The  beasts  are  his  father's — the  horses  are  free; 
The  girls  are  all  giggling  and  merry  as  he! 
"But  there  is  a  tavern — it  is  not  so  far; 
Say,  don't  you  discover  the  sign  of  "the  star?" 
We'll  stop  there  awhile — we  will  get  a  good  treat, 
And  Mary  and  Susan  can  both  warm  their  feet."  * 
Sam  drives  to  the  tavern,  and  while  the  girls  warm, 
He  will  take  a  few  drops — it  will  do  him  no  harm; 
"Your  brandy  is  good!" — "Yes;  I  keep  of  the  best; 
Come,  turn  off  the  glass,  sir,  and  finish  the  rest!" 
Sam  turns  off  his  bumper — "'Tis  my  turn  to  treat; 
Come,  taste  my  Jamaica  and  Sherry" — "Tis  sweet;" 
Sam  taste?  of  the  liquors — they  all  are  so  good; 
"The  air  is  quite  cold — and  a  glass  warms  my  blood!" 


130  THE    TUTOR    IN    A    PET. 

But  surely  the  ladies  must  have  a  small  taste; 

"Not  offer  them  any? — I  should  be  disgraced;" 

So  Sam  adds  some  water  and  sugars  it  well; 

"O  ladies  'tis  sweeten'd" — this  serves  as  a  spell! 

The  ladies  all  sip,  till  they  have  sipp'd  round, 

And  Sam  sips  again,  with  a  sip  most  profound; 

''Come,  let  us  be  off  girls,  for  Dobbin  and  Jack 

Are  in  a  good  humor  to  carry  us  back." 

The  girls  "tumble  in9' — and  Sam  takes  up  the  rein, 

The  horses  go  straight,  but  their  instinct  is  vain; 

For  Sam  knows  much  better  than  any  one  can; 

Besides,  there's  some  difference  'tween  a  beast  and  a  man! 

So  off  he  now  drives  in  his  usual  way, 

He  runs  on  a  stump  and  away  goes  the  sleigh; 

The  ladies  are  wallow'd,  or  thrown  in  the  snow, 

Had  Dobbin  been  leader  'twould  not  have  been  so! 

A  distance  from  home — O!  poor  girls,  it  is  sad, 

That  Dobbin  or  Sam  has  now  used  you  so  bad; 

But  when  you  get  home — if  sleigh-riding  you  go, 

Remember  the  time  of  your  tramp  in  the  snow! 


THE  TUTOR  IN  A  PET. 

ANOTHER  day  of  my  detested  life  is  gone; 

And  all  its  troubles  too  have  pass'd  me  by; 
It  is  some  respite  to  be  left  alone, 

Amid  the  darkness  of  a  winter's  sky. 

No  end  to  my  vexatious  state  I  see, 

But  every  thing  conspires  to  make  me  sad; 

And  though  'tis  said  by  nature  I  am  free, 
A  negro  slave's  condition's  not  so  bad! 


THE    TUTOR    IN    A    PET.  181 

They  have  their  meals  of  good  though  homely  fare, 
And  to  the  field  with  whistling  they  retire; 

While  I,  chamelion  like,  may  snuff  the  air, 
To  gratify  the  man  of  base  desire. 

I  sit  the  live-long  day,  o'er  worn-out  books, 

And  thoughtless  children  that  have  scarce  one  care, 

Whether  they  learn  or  not; — they  reck  no  looks, 
Not  even  birch  can  plant  true  knowledge  there! 

Yet,  pretty  things!  you  must  not  use  the  rod, 
Or  when  you  ask  to  have  your  dear-bought  pay, 

The  parents,  in  defiance  of  their  God, 
Will  give  you  more  than  retribution  day! 

Their  children  may,  on  all  occasions,  lie, 
Yet  Ben's  a  good,  industrious,  cheerful  boy; 

Yes,— they  may  swear,  and  morals  good  defy, 
Yet  nothing  can  the  urchin's  worth  destroy! 

The  tutor  must  obey  the  parent's  will; 

For  Billy's  mind  he  never  must  control; 
Let  him  be  carelesss  or  outrageous — still 

He  is  his  father's  boy — with  half  a  soul! 

But  O,  when  simple  mothers  take  the  lead, 

It  beggars  language  to  find  out  a  name 
For  such  anomalies! — 'tis  sad  indeed, 

And  men  thus  rul'd  deserve  ten  times  more  blame 
16* 


182 


LINES. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Doctor  JOHN  BRISCOE,  who  departed  this 
life,  December,  1834. 

IF  man  deserves  a  tributary  lay, 
The  well-earn'd  meed  is  justly  due  to  thee; 

Not  even  foul-mouthed  envy  could  essay 
To  cast  a  shade  upon  thy  memory. 

Thou  need'st  no  dirge  t'  impress  departed  worth 
Upon  the  minds  of  those  who  shall  survive, 

As  spicy  gales  which  most  perfume  the  earth, 
Still  float  in  air  or  on  the  senses  live. 

How  many  can  attest  thy  friendly  skill, 

Thy  great  perfection  in  the  healing  art? 
Stubborn  diseases  yielded  at  thy  will, 

And  health,  and  strength  reviv'd  the  languid  heart. 

With  mournful  recollections  we  record 

Thy  assiduity — thy  constant  toil; 
Thou  ever  wast  alert  upon  the  word, 

Andfac'dthe  storms  of  wrinter  with  a  smile. 

But,  ah!  no  merit  could  prolong  thy  breath; 

The  blow  was  aimed  by  an  unerring  dart; 
"The  meritorious  Briscoe  sleeps  in  death," — 

Is  deeply  written  on  each  feeling  heart. 

The  tyrant  well  his  mighty  pow'r  may  boast, 
With  such  a  man  enclos'd  in  his  domain; 

For  in  himself  he  might  be  term'd  a  host, 
Nor  could  death  hold  a  stronger  in  his  chain. 


183 


But  hark!  'tis  Gabriel's  trump;  death  yields  his  prey; 

Broke  is  the  ancient  sceptre  of  the  tomb; 
The  barriers  of  death  and  hell  give  way 

And  man  shall  rise  in  his  immortal  bloom. 

What  happy  leaf  may  be  unfolded  then, 
Or  what  dark  page  it  is  not  ours  to  trace; 

We  all  are  fallible  and  dying  men, — 
Have  mercy  on  us  all,  thou  God  of  grace! 

If  frailties  we  have  not — we  are  not  men, — 
What  Briscoe's  were  is  not  for  me  to  say; 

His  virtues  only  were  the  things  most  plain, 
And  they  shall  be  emblazon'd  in  that  day. 


HIC    JACET.— (HERE  HE  LIES.) 

Hie  JACET — what  a  soothing  sound, 

When  on  the  bad  man's  tombstone  found; 

For  it  implies  that  in  that  spot 

He  and  his  acts  affect  us  not! 

Hie  JACET — what  a  soothing  sound, 

When  on  the  good  man's  tombstone  found; 

For  it  implies  he  is  at  rest, 

And  in  his  Maker's  presence  blest. 


EPITAPH — ON    A    BAD    MAN. 

HERE  lies  a  man  who  was  to  blame; 
Reader,  is  not  thy  case  the  same? 
With  Nature's  God  he  seem'd  at  strife; 
Reader,  is  thine  a  better  life? 
At  length,  he  has  paid  Nature's  debt; 
Ah,  reader,  yours  must  be  paid  yet! 


184 


THE  ETERNITY  OF  GOD. 

ERE  first  the  countless  Morning  Stars, 

Were  into  strange  existence  brought; 
Or  ere  the  numerous  sons  of  God, 

Were  usher'd  into  being's  thought; 
There  did  exist  whom  we  call — GOD, 

In  space  immeasureably  wide; 
Ten  thousand  orders  round  Him  stood, 

Or  twice  ten  thousand  orders — died! 

Perhaps  ten  thousand  more,  thrice  told, 

Had  chang'd  their  forms,  or  pass'd  away, 
Ere  yet  the  golden  sun  had  roll'd 

His  burning  orb,  or  pour'd  the  day! 
Ere  yet  this  universe  display'd 

Her  wonders  to  the  seraph's  sight, 
Or  El-Elohim's  hand  had  made 

The  smallest  object  of  delight, — 

He  reign'd  supreme,  or  reign'd  alone, — 

Blest  in  his  own  eternity; 
Nor  did  He  need  the  aid  of  one, 

To  swell  his  full  felicity: 
But  still  augment  this  large  account, 

By  all  the  sands  along  the  sea; 
Swell  this  prodigious  vast  amount, 

By  all  the  spires  of  grass  that  be; — 

These,  multiply  by  drops  of  rain, 
That  from  the  first  creation  fell; 

By  ev'ry  seed  on  earth  or  main, 
Since  Lucifer  was  plung'd  in  hell: — 


THE  ETERNITY  OF  GOD.  185 

Those  multiply  by  ev'ry  dart, 

And  ev'ry  sinful,  vicious  thought 
That  agoniz'd  his  tortur'd  heart, 

Since  God  first  spoke  the  world  from  nought; 

Still  ev'ry  sand,  spire,  drop,  or  pain, 

That  earth  has  borne  or  Satan  felt, 
With  all  his  thoughts  in  awful  train, 

Till  nature's  works  with  heat  shall  melt; — 
Still  all,  all,  all  cannot  attain, 

The  number  of  Jehovah's  years; 
Nor  all  the  seeds,  on  earth  or  main, 

Till  Christ,  a  second  time,  appears. 

Still  multiply  by  all  the  dust, 

That  swam  in  ocean  or  in  air, 
Till  all  created  beings  must 

Before  the  bar  of  God  appear. 
Still  these  would  fall  forever  short, 

Nor  could  they  reach  infinity: 
How  feeble  then  is  man's  effort! 

How  awful  must  that  being  be! 

O'erwhelm'd  in  thine  eternity, 

Are  angels,  men,  and  nature's  things; 
Yet,  man,  frail  man!  approaches  thee, 

While  Gabriel  hides  his  face  and  sings! 
Thou  from  eternity  wast  God, 

Eternity — transcript  of  thee! 
Creation  trembles  at  thy  nod; 

Thy  frown  dissolves  earth,  sky,  and  sea! 

Great  God!  I  own  that  I  am  lost— 
O'erwhelm'd  in  thine  immensity, 


186  THE  ETERNITY  OF  GOD. 

And  on  the  boundless  prospect  tost, 

Of  thine  unfathomable  sea! 
Eternity  was  first  thy  date, 

That  through  unnumber'd  ages  ran; 
And  an  eternity,  of  late, 

Devolves  upon  thy  creature,  man! 

Eternity  that  never  ends, 

Bears  no  proportion,  Lord,  to  thee; 
Thy  Being  far  the  whole  transcends, 

And  thou  shalt  never  cease  to  be! 
Though  lightnings  glare  destructive  flame, 

And  thunders  roar  and  burst  th'  expanse; 
Though  ruin  seize  all  nature's  frame, 

Yet  thine  existence  shall  advance. 

But  yet  thy  years  cannot  increase, 

To  number  with  thine  ages  past; 
Nor  canst  thou,  glorious  Being,  cease, 

Thou  wast  the  first,  and  thou  the  last: 
The  first  of  what  did  ne'er  begin, 

The  last  of  what  shall  never  end; 
And  yet  to  thee  am  I  akin, — 

Thine  offspring!— thou  my  deathless  friend! 

More  kind  than  any  father,  thou 

Hast  known  me  ere  I  first  drew  breath; 
More  wise  than  any  father,  now 

Thou  keep'st  me  from  the  jaws  of  death. 
O  may  my  lengthen'd  life  proclaim 

Some  anthem  worthy  of  my  king; 
Lord,  while  I  live  I'll  bless  thy  name, 

And  thy  stupendous  glory  sing. 


187 


AN  ELEGIAC  EULOGIUM. 

On  the  character  and  death  of  GILBERT   MOTIER  (formerly  Mar- 
quis) DE  LA  FAYETTE. 

LA  FAYETTE'S  dead! — Thou  friend  of  man,  farewell! 

With  what  delight  we  on  thy  virtues  dwell! 

But  they  expand  in  that  congenial  clime, 

Where  nothing  suffers  by  the  hand  of  time. 

But  how  shall  I  delineate  a  mind, 

That  heav'n  for  such  noble  deeds  designed? 

Vain  are  the  tropes  that  rhet'ric  would  display, 

For  in  his  rays  all  figures  melt  away. 

Xanguage  is  poor — It  labors  in  each  line, — 

I  want  for  words — I  need  a  pow'r  divine; 

O  thou  who  didst  the  bards  of  yore  inspire, 

Touch  my  cold  tongue  with  pure  celestial  fire! 

Direct  my  strokes  and  aid  me  while  I  draw, 

A  character  that  never  show'd  one  flaw; 

Rich  without  pride  from  ostentation  free, 

And  one  who  was  all  that  a  man  should  be! 

Second  to  the  immortal  Washington, 

In  circles  parallel  their  names  shall  run; 

While  others  wax,  and  wane,  and  pass  away, 

They  glow  with  an  increasing  lustrous  ray. 

We  read  of  the  illustrious  William  Tell; 

But,  ah!  La  Fayette's  deeds  his  far  excel; 

The  former  laid  a  haughty  tyrant  low, 

Who  bade  him  give  his  son  the  fatal  blow: 

La  Fayette  bared  his  bosom,  not  for  kin; 

For  strangers  he  withstood  the  battle-din; 


188  AN  ELEGIAC  EULOGIUM 

Tell  ran  two  chances — but  La  Fayette  more; 

We  might  increase  his  perils  to  a  score! 

Tell  fought  for  those  who  strictly  were  his  own; 

La  Fayette  for  benev'lence'  sake  alone; 

Philanthropy  his  gen'rous  bosom  swell'd, 

And  through  long  toils  his  soul  a  captive  held! 

But  Tell,  it  seems,  bore  not  one  glorious  scar; 

But  view  La  Fayette! — Lo,  the  PRINT  is  there! 

And  while  the  former  aggrandiz'd  himself, 

La  Fayette  never  aim'd  for  aught  like  pelf! 

He  left  the  lux'ries  of  a  royal  board, 

A  peaceful  home,  with  cornucopia  stored; 

Travers'd  the  hills  and  vales  with  Washington, 

Till  a  long  sanguinary  term  had  run — 

A  fac-simile  of  him  where  shall  we  find, 

Unless  it  be  in  Washington's  great  mind? 

Search  no  where  else,  or  all  your  labor's  vain, 

Columbia  ne'er  shall  view  his  like  again. 

Disinterested,  generous,  and  brave, 

His  purse  was  open  the  oppress'd  to  save; 

Money  was  nothing,  for  he  spilt  his  blood 

And  to  the  last  he  for  our  country  stood. 

Columbia's  boast,  and  France's  highest  pride, 

In  him  two  nation's  greatest  champion  died. 

He  wants  no  sculptured  bronze,  no  speaking  bust; 

Immortal  glory's  written  on  his  dust. 

His  gallant  and  his  patriotic  deeds, 

Shall  scatter  through  the  world  the  fruitful  seeds 

Of  ev'ry  virtue  which  can  men  adorn, 

And  germinate  in  thousands  yet  unborn. 

From  lisping  infants  shall  his  name  resound, 

And  patriot-fires  shall  kindle  at  the  sound; 


AN   ELEGIAC    EULOGIUM.  189 

To  feats  of  chivalry  our  youth  aspire, 

And  light  their  tapers  at  La  Fayette's  fire. 

Such  is  the  man  Columbia's  sons  lament; 

And  thus  his  life  in  usefulness  was  spent; 

And  when  he  left  us  for  his  native  place, 

For  liberty  La  Fayette  set  his  face. 

The  flame  was  kindled;  but  designing  men, 

Arose  and  put  the  patriot's  mind  to  pain; 

They  introduced  vile  anarchy  through  France, 

And  bloodshed  and  disorder  join'd  the  dance. 

'Twas  at  this  period  Bonaparte  arose, 

And  in  his  train  were  seen  ten  thousand  woes; 

Affrighted  liberty  from  France  retir'd, 

Or  on  the  guillotine  it  had  expir'd. 

But  all  this  time  La  Fayette  was  immur'd 

And  in  a  gloomy  prison  well  secur'd: 

But  Washington  the  German  throne  address'd 

And  the  illustrious  pris'ner  was  releas'd. 

Thus  while  his  country  was  a  scene  of  blood, 

Our  hero  shielded  by  the  hand  of  God, 

Was  brought  to  see  his  native  land  once  more, 

And  stand  for  freedom  as  he  did  before. 

Gen'ral  La  Fayette,  our  adopted  son, 

The  laurels  are  eternal  thou  hast  won; 

And  thou  shalt  be  remembered  in  our  clime, 

As  long  as  years  shall  wheel  the  flight  of  time. 

Adieu,  La  Fayette!  shine  among  the  spheres, 

Th'  illustrious  sage  to  everlasting  years; 

Peace  to  thy  relics,  till  thy  sacred  dust, 

New-modelPd,  joins  the  triumphs  of  the  just. 

America  will  pay  thy  just  arrears, 

And  bathe  thy  mem'ry  in  a  flood  of  tears; 


190  EPITAPH. 

While  angel-legions  guard  the  hallow'd  place, 

That  holds  the  most  illustrious  of  his  race. 

Weishaupt,  and  all  the  folPwers  of  Voltaire, 

Have  vanish'd  as  the  meteor  in  the  air; 

They  have  not  left  a  solitary  trace 

They  liv'd — save  blood  that  mark'd  their  race! 

Their  liberty  was  of  the  lawless  kind; — 

The  deep  contamination  of  the  mind; 

It  triumph'd  over  conscience  and  all  right, 

And  left  the  soul  involved  in  thick  midnight. 

La  Fayette's  was  not  so; — his  noble  soul 

Was  destin'd  for  an  elevated  goal; 

He  studied  Washington  and  took  his  plan, 

Which  breathed  benevolence  to  ev'ry  man. 

Without  one  blemish,  both  have  lived  and  died, 

Their  country's  honor,  and  the  world's  high  pride; 

But  virtues,  such  as  theirs,  must  leave  behind, 

The  highest  flights  of  even  Homer's  mind! 

Farewell!  La  Fayette!  liberty  will  weep 

Whene'er  she  thinks  upon  her  son's  last  sleep; 

Her  tears  will  mingle  with  Columbia's  sighs, 

And  oft,  in  thought,  will  trace  him  to  the  sides. 

The  gaudy  Mausoleum  shall  decline, 

Nor  the  Pantheon  be  esteem'd  divine; 

But  virtues,  like  La  Fayette's,  shall  remain, 

As  long  as  pleasure  is  opposed  to  pain. 


Written  on  hearing  that  a  tailor  had  killed  his  comrade  with  the 

goose. 

What  pity  man  should  kill  his  brother, 
And  that  one  goose  should  kill  another! 


191 


BREATHING  FOR  IMMORTALITY. 

WHY  should  this  veil  of  flesh  and  blood, 

Sever  my  soul  from  thee? 
Thine  essence  doth  surround  me  still, 

Thyself,  I  cannot  see! 

Thy  footsteps  in  the  heavens  I  trace, 

And  on  the  earth  below; 
Thou  art  before  me,  in  each  path, 

My  roving  feet  would  go. 

Yet  still  mine  eye  perceives  thee  not; 

To  me  thou  art  unseen; 
Whether  in  thought  I  soar  o'er  stars, 

Or  walk  the  vallies  green. 

Yet,  Lord,  such  is  thy  influence, 

Thou  dost  attract  my  soul, 
More  than  a  thousand  splendid  toys, 

That  round  my  vision  roll. 

Up  far  beyond  the  highest  height 

Of  glory  thou  dost  dwell; 
But  what  thou  art  I  can't  conceive, 

Nor  half  thy  goodness  tell! 

More  dear  thou  art  than  any  tiling, 

This  fading  world  can  give; 
And  'tis  by  thy  beneficence, 

My  feeble  frame  doth  live. 


192  BATTLE    GROUND. 

My  ears  have  never  heard  thy  voice; 

Yet,  on  thee,  I  rely; 
And  in  full  confidence  rejoice, 

"I  have  a  friend  on  high!" 

To  thee  my  spirit,  Lord,  would  cleave, 

Until  I  leave  iny  clay; 
Then — blessed  with  all  a  God  can  give, 

My  soul  would  soar  away! 


It  is  said  by  the  oldest  inhabitants  on  the  South  Branch  of 
Potomac,  that,  many  years  ago,  there  was  an  exterminating  battle 
fought  between  two  of  the  most  powerful  tribes  of  Indians  then  ex- 
isting—the Cherokees  and  the  Clackasaws.  Each  army  was  painted 
black.  The  former  tribe  took  their  stand  on  what  is  now  known  by 
the  appellation  of  "Earsom's  Hanging  Rock;''  the  latter  encamped 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  The  conflict  ended  in  the  almost 
complete  destruction  of  the  Chickasaw  nation,  High  on  the  rock 
is  painted  a  spinning  wheel  and  a  large  table-spoon,  which,  it  has 
been  supposed,  were  hieroglyphical  of  some  of  the  transactions  of 
that  event.  These  two  representations,  and  an  Indian  dart,  which 
may  be  found  now  and  then,  are  the  only  remains  of  Indian  bar- 
barity, to  be  found  near  this  ancient 

BATTLE  GROUND. 

MANY  an  age  has  rolled  away, 

And  many  a  head  has  since  grown  gray, 

And  many  breasts  have  press'd  the  sod, 

Since  Indians  rear'd  their  battle-god! 

But  still  their  vestiges  we  trace, 

In  that  wild,  solitary  place, 

Where  echo  winds  her  protracted  lay, 

To  travelers  along  that  mountain  way. 


BATTLE    GROUND.  193 

On  heights  that  make  the  brain  to  reel, 
You'll  see  the  painted  spinning  wheel; 
And,  as  though  heaven's  highest  boon, 
The  large,  domestic  table -spoon.* 

On  those  heights  the  warrior,  bled, 
And  showers  of  darts  flew  round  his  head, 
While  Ar-e-ous-kif  wheel'd  his  car, 
And  Chickasaws  stood  the  shoek  of  war; 
But  now  inform  me — where  are  they? 
Like  mountain  mists  they've  pass'd  away; 
And  echo,  that  tells  your  words  all  o'er, 
Now  speaks  of  great  ManitouJ  no  more! 
The  Indian  arrow  is  unstrung, 
Scatter'd  the  dust  of  warriors  young; 
Their  strong-nerv'd  arms  are  laying  low, 
And  blend  with  their  elastic  bow. 

Here  and  there — strown  far  and  wide — 

Are  th'  essays  of  savage  pride; 

But  all  that  of  the  host  remains, 

Is — here  the  rocks — and  there  the  plains; 

Except  it  be  a  rude  shap'd  dart, 

That,  mayhap,  pierced  some  noble  heart! 

But  echo  tells  us  of  these  no  more, 

Nor  feats  on  South  Potomac's  shore: 

The  haughty  Chickasaw  has  fled, 

Or  mounds  of  stone  surround  his  head; 

So  pass  away  the  savage  race, 

And  other  spirits  fill  their  place! 

*The  spinning  wheel  and  table-spoon  were  painted  high  on  the 
rock  during  the  battle. 

fThe  Indian  God  of  battle.  {The  Indian  Deity. 

17* 


194  A    SKETCH. 

But  remains  {;The  Hanging  Rock;" 

Firm  it  stood  the  battle  shock; 

And  still  it  proudly  lifts  its  head, 

A  monument  of  the  Indians  dead: 

And  long  it  shall  a  signal  stand, 

Of  Nature's  works — sublimely  grand: 

But  echo*  shall  her  Creator  cry, 

When  thunders  shall  roll  and  lightnings  fly. 

Till  Gabriel  roars  the  mighty  peal, 

That  makes  the  earth's  huge  fabric  reel, 

And  bids  the  sea  and  land  restore 

The  war- fall 'n  dead— to  die  no  more! 


A  SKETCH 

OF    THE    NATURAL    SCENERY    OF    HARPER'S    FERRY. 
(By  request.) 

GOD  of  the  hills,  and  rocks,  and  mountains, 
Purling  streams  and  crystal  fountains; 
God  of  the  great  Potomac  river, 
And  Shenandoah- -from  forever! 
God  of  ev'ry  land  and  nation, 
•From  the  first  march  of  creation, 
Here  the  wonders  of  thy  hand, 
As  thy  monument  shall  stand, 

UnequalPd,  to  earth's  latest  stages: — 
Moss-grown  rocks,  uprearing  high 
Their  gray  summits  tow'rds  the  sky, 

Shall  remain — a  world  of  ages! 


*The  Hanging  Rock  is  famous  for  the  ectio  of  the  human  voice. 


A    SKETCH.  195 

See  in  yonder  valley  low, 
Where  Potomac's  waters  flow, 
With  the  Shenandoah  meeting, 
As  if  sisters  twain  were  greeting, 
How  the  mountain's  side  seems  torn, 
By  some  mighty  current  borne 
From  its  former  resting-place, 
Level  I'd  to  its  present  base: — 

Here,  those  giant  streams  contending, 
Through  the  rocks  their  channels  wen*1 
Make,  at  last,  this  abrupt  ending, 

From  their  beds  the  great  hill  rending! 

Here,  it  appears,  in  days  of  yore, 
Two  streams,  that  never  met  before, 

Disputed  with  th'  opposing  mound, 
The  latter  stern  and  solid  stood, 
Contending  with  the  mighty  flood, 

And  strove  its  course  to  bound: 
The  two  streams  gathering  all  their  strength, 
By  opposition  grown,  at  length 

With  a  redoubled  force, 
They  sweep  the  barriers  away, 
And  thus  those  cragged  forms  display, 

In  their  resistless  course! 

• 

The  mountains  now  majestically  stand 
Disrupted,  and  the  wilds  on  either  hand, 
Now  rear  their  heads  and  seem  to  give  the  sign, 
That  here  the  rivers  bursted  o'er  the  line; 
While  ridges,  tending  downward,  say 
That  here  the  waters  used  to  lay, 


196  A    SKETCH. 

Upon  their  grassy  sides  and  tops,  where  now 
The  farmer  runs  the  well-known,  useful  plough; 
And  in  the  hardest  rock  you  see  appear 
Some  cavities,  that  plainly  do  declare 
The  waters  had  on  them  a  constant  sweep, 
When  erst  this  place  was  buried  in  the  deep! 

On  the  Virginia  side  is  seen  a  rock,* 
Self-pois'd,  upon  another  larger  stone; 

Which  stands  immovable  in  ev'ry  shock, 
As  if  it  claim'd  the  mountain  for  its  own! 

Here  the  red  bolt,  from  the  careering  cloud, 

Has  spent  its  strength,  'midst  thunders  long  and  loud; 

And  when  this  war  of  elements  is  o'er, 

It  lifts  its  head  as  proudly  as  before. 

It  gathers  its  importance  from  the  fact, 

That  Jefferson's  uncommon  tact 

In  writing,  gives  the  rock  a  splendid  name; 

But — had  he  sat  on  other  rocks  they'd  had  the  same! 

Hence,  you  may  see  the  people  as  they  pass, 
By  naked  eye,  or  through  perspective  glass, 

Stop — to  admire  that  wonder  of  the  day; 
But  when  they  view  it,  it  is  but  a  stone, 
Which,  but  for  Jefferson,  had  ne'er  been  known, 

And  looks — like  other  rocks — uncouthly  gray! 
But  when  they  have  but  seen  it,  it  is  well, 
For  now  the  enchantment's  broke — the  potent  spell 

That  locks  the  senses  of  the  wond'ring  man: 
Had  Thomas  fix'd  his  philosophic  eye 
On  other  rocks,  that  may  be  seen  hard  by, 

They  would  have  answer'd  his  intended  plan! 

^Jefferson's  Rock. 


197 


Can  you  suppose  there's  inspiration,  where 
Rocks  piled  on  rocks,  are  lifted  in  the  air? 

Hampshire  and  Hardy  then  are  both  inspired; 
For  there  are  rocks  on  rocks,  surpassing  high, 
Around  whose  tops  the  forked  lightnings  fly, 

And  pines  lay  prostrate  by  the  red  bolt  fir'd! 
Have  you  not  seen  the  broad,  the  noted  gap,* 

That  mocks  the  efforts  of  a  painter's  art? 
There  rocks  are  sunder'd  from  their  mother's  lap, 

And  playful  nature  acts  an  antic  part: 
There  are  stupendous  cliffs,  that  seem  to  dare 
The  eagle  in  his  passage  through  the  air! 


LINES. 

Written  September,  1814,  on  seeing  the  cannon   erected  on  the 
batteries  near  Baltimore. 

TREMENDOUS  instruments  of  death! 
Jehovah!  stop  their  thund'ring  breath; 
Or  let  no  warring  passions  rise, 
Or  nations  meet  with  angry  eyes. 
Destroy  the  warrior's  trade  in  blood, 
And  let  them  know  that  thou  art  God; 
Henceforth  let  dove-like  peace  expand, 
Her  olive  shade  all  o'er  the  land. 
Drive,  Lord,  our  old  insulting  foe, 
And  lay  their  haughty  prospects  low; 
O  may  they  meet  with  a  rebuff, 
And  make  them  cry  aloud — "Enough!'' 


"The  gap  below  the  mouth  of  New  Creek,  H.  C.,  also  another  at 
the  head  of  ratterson's  Creek  in  Hardy  county. 


198 


Cockburne  has  left  his  darkened  track, 

In  ev'ry  little  seaport  back, 

Where  his  marauders  had  access, 

And  pigs  and  poultry  number  less! 

If  it  should  be  thy  holy  will, 

May  some  dead-shot  make  him  He  still; 

Then  shall  our  hen-roosts  all  have  peace, 

And  British  trade  in  poultry  cease! 

Be  thou,  Lord,  Baltimore's  defence, 

And  teach  the  British  gen'ral  sense; 

Or  let  his  honor  be  laid  low, 

By  some  tremendous,  death-like  blow! 

Although  I  am  a  soldier,  Lord, 

Thou  know'st  I  tremble  at  thy  word; 

But — can  I  love  a  savage  foe, 

That  has  disgrac'd  our  nation  so? 

They've  burnt  our  capitol  with  fire; 

To  Baltimore  they  now  aspire; 

O  turn  their  cruel  footsteps  back, 

And  may  their  blood  wash  out  their  track! 

Inspire  our  fighting  men  with  skill; 

May  ev'ry  shot  a  thousand  kill; — 

And  since  they  thirst  for  our  blood, 

Compel  them  to  drink  theirs,  O  God! 

Or  if  too  much  for  theirs  I  thirst, 

May  those  marauders  "meet  the  worst," 

And  while  our  cannons  thunder  loud, 

Involve  their  prospects  in  a  cloud! 

If  thou  wilt  give  us  victory, 

The  glory  shall  belong  to  thee; 

And  when  the  campaign's  o'er,  I'll  tell, 

"The  Lord  has  ordered  all  things  well!" 


199 


That  fearful  lady  at  the  door,* 
Who  paced  so  quickly  o'er  the  floor; — 
O  calm  the  tumults  of  her  breast, 
And  put  her  groundless  fears  at  rest. 
And  when  the  bombardment  shall  cease, 
May  she  behold  her  friends  in  peace, 
And  raise  an  anthem,  Lord,  to  thee, 
Who  gave  us  homes  and  liberty. 


PSALM  XVIIL— FROM  3d  to  27th  v.  INCLUSIVE. 

JESUS,  my  Lord,  I'll  call  on  thee — 
Thou  art  a  Savior  unto  me; 

Thy  name  shall  have  the  praise; 
The  groans  of  death  my  soul  surround, 
Floods  of  ungodly  men  are  found, 

And  strong  are  their  essays. 


'September  14th,  1814, 1  arrived  in  Baltimore.  As  the  company 
to  which  I  belonged,  were  marching  through  Market-street,  to 
Chinkapin  Hill,  I  discovered  a  lusty,  good-looking  woman,  who 
paced  over  the  floor  in  great  agitation  of  mind.  She  came  to  the 
door  in  a  loose  dress,  unconscious  how  high  she  had  tucked  up  her 
clothes,  and  inquired  from  whence  we  came?  She  said,  "O  I  am 
so  dreadfully  afraid  the  British  will  get  into  town."  I  replied,  "Do 
not  be  afraid,  madam,  we  will  beat  them!'*  She  replied,  "I  would 
to  God  you  may;  for  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  them!"  I  have  often 
thought  of  this  good  woman  since,  and  felt  much  sympathy  for  her 
distressed  situation  of  mind.  Fear  is  worse  than  death!  It  is  highly 
probable,  as  Dr.  Young  says, 

ll^fe  feel  a  thousand  deaths  in  fearing  one/" 


200 


The  sorrows  of  both  death  and  hell, 
Around  me  in  huge  billows  swell; 

I  call  on  thee  for  aid; 
Their  deep-laid  snares  prevent  my  soul, 
And  o'er  my  head  the  billows  roll; 

0  Lord,  I  am  afraid. 

Thus  did  I  call  in  my  distress, 
Upon  the  Lord,  my  righteousness, 

He  heard  me  from  on  high, 
My  prayer  ascended  to  his  ears, 
He  saved  me  from  my  rising  fears — 

1  found  his  presence  nigh. 

Then  from  his  awful  count'nance  broke 
The  lightnings  flame  and  curling  smoke; 

He  bow'd  the  heav'ns  on  high; 
Thick  gloom  beneath  his  feet  was  roll'd, 
A  cherub's  flight  his  swiftness  told, 

As  he  came  down  the  sky. 

Darkness  his  secret  place  on  high, 
Careering  tempests  round  him  fly, 

Upon  their  wings  he  rode; 
Dark  waters  his  pavilion  spread, 
And  the  thick  clouds  around  his  head, 

Proclaim  the  awful  God! 

The  brightness  of  his  blessed  face, 
Reveal'd  himself  the  God  of  grace; 

The  thick  clouds  pass'd  away — 
Hailstones  and  coals  of  fire  appear; 
The  thunders  spoke  Jehovah  near, 

On  that  important  day. 


201 


For  when  the  highest  gave  his  voice, 
It  bade  my  mourning  soul  rejoice; 

My  enemies  all  fled; 
He  shot  his  arrows  from  on  high, 
And,  lo,  my  trembling  foes  all  fly, 

And  seek  to  hide  in  shade. 

He  sent  salvation  from  above, 

And  drew  me  out  with  cords  of  love, 

From  depths  as  dark  as  death — 
The  channels  of  the  deep  were  bar'd, 
When  God  against  my  foes  appear'd, 

They  scatter'd  at  his  breath. 

The  deep  foundations  of  the  world, 
Were  from  their  solid  bases  hurl'd; 

At  thy  rebuke  they  fly; 
A  blast  of  thy  Almighty  breath, 
Discloses  all  the  shades  of  death, 

And  brings  salvation  nigh. 

Although  mine  enemies  were  strong, 
Deli v 'ranee  did  not  tarry  long; 

Thine  arm  has  been  my  stay; 
Thou  hast  enlarged  my  former  place , 
And  brought  me  forth  to  see  thy  face, 

In  thine  appointed  way. 

My  soul  forever  shall  record 
The  loving  kindness  of  my  Lord; 

I'll  triumph  in  his  sight; 
For  I  have  learned  his  holy  ways, 
He  is  the  Lord  my  righteousness; :  '•' 

And  I  am  his  delight. 

18 


202  EPITAPH. 

The  Lord  will  give  a  fit  reward; 

None  but  clean  hands  surround  his  board; 

He  loves  the  soul  sincere — 
But  those  who  wickedly  depart 
From  him,  with  sorrows  pierce  their  heart; 

He  hears  the  righteous  prayer. 

Thy  judgments  are  before  my  Yace, 
According  to  my  righteousness, 

Thou  wilt  my  soul  reward; 
But  those  who  are  to  sin  inclin'd, 
The  sinner's  pathway  hard  shall  find; 

For  they  offend  the  Lord! 

Mercy,  and  love,  and  purity, 
Belong  exclusively  to  thee; 

High  looks  thou  wilt  bring  down — 
But  the  afflicted  thou  wilt  save, 
And  bring  him  from  the  loathsome  grave, 

To  wear  a  starry  crown. 


EPITAPH  FOR  E.  A.  C. 

An  Infant  aged  19  days. 

NINETEEN  days — a  narrow  space, 
Ere  I  reach  the  appointed  place: 
But  you  see,  lo,  here  I  lie, — 
Man  was  born  to  weep  and  die! 
Reader,  for  thy  lot  prepare — 
Thou  wilt  shortly  meet  me  here! 


203 


NOT  FOND  OF  PROFESSIONAL  GENTLEMEN. 

I  AM  not  fond  of  Lawyers,  sir,  nor  are  they  fond  of  me, 
For  never  yet  but  thrice  have  I  paid  one  the  smallest  fee; 
But  if  the  neighbors  were  like  I,  these  men  would  save 

their  breath — 
For  we  would  live  on  peaceful  terms,  and  starve  them 

all  to  death! 

I  am  not  fond  of  Doctors,  sir,  nor  are  they  fond  of  me — 
For  yet,  in  all  my  life,  I've  dealt  with  only  two  or  three; 
But  if  the  neighbors  were  like  I,  those  men  would  save 

their  pills, 
For  I'm  afraid  of  calomel,  and  fear  the  lancet  kills! 

I  am  not  fond  of  Tutors,  sir,  nor  are  they  fond  of  me — 
Besides,  you  know,  two  of  a  trade  can  never  well  agree; 
But  if  the  neighbors  were  like  I,  no  children  would  they 

have, 
And  then  the  tutors  all  would  go  in  silence  to  the  grave! 


LOVE  TO  GOD    UNSPEAKABLE. 

I  LOVE  thee,  my  Savior — thus  far  I  am  certain: 
The  glory  of  heaven  must  speak  all  the  rest; 

Thou  knowest  I  cannot  till  death  draws  the  curtain, 
And  I  am  permitted  to  shout  with  the  bless'd: — 

O  then  I'll  begin  with  the  transporting  story, 

And  tell  of  thy  love,  thy  salvation,  and  glory; 

But  still  with  an  endless  duration  before  me, 
The  tale  of  redemption  can  ne'er  be  expressed. 


204  EPITAPH. 

The  flame  of  thy  Jove  shall  rise  higher  and  higher, 
And,  like  thy  perfections,  no  limits  shall  know; 

Each  view  will  increase  the  celestial  fire, 

And  to  ceaseless  ages  those  raptures  will  glow: 

The  song  of  free  grace  shall  have  no  limitation; 

JTis  glory,  and  honor,  and  endless  salvation 

To  Jesus,  from  each  tongue,  and  kindred,  and  nation; 
And  world  without  end  shall  those  symphonies  flow. 

I  love  thee,  my  Savior,  and  that  thou  well  knowest — 
O  read  on  my  heart  what  thy  love  has  wrote  there; 

I  am  pleasM  with  thy  laws  and  all  that  thou  still  doest— 
And  in  my  professions  thou  know'st  I'm  sincere! 

When  all  creature  -comforts  shall  from  me  be  riven, 

In  thee  I  have  comfort,  and  pleasure,  and  heaven; 

Thy  spirit  assures  me  my  sins  are  forgiven, — 
And  what  is  still  better,  thou  always  art  near! 

0  when  shall  I  rise  to  the  blessed  enjoyment 

Of  those  radiant  glories  that  beam  round  his  throne? 
Be  singing  and  praising  my  constant  employment, 

Until  I  shall  drink  of  those  pleasures  unknown: 
Farewell  to  the  shadows  that  strike  on  my  vision, 
The  scoffs  of  the  wicked  and  all  their  derision; 

1  rise  to  those  pleasures  far  more  than — Elysian, 

And  sit  down  with  Jesus  upon  his  bright  throne! 


EPITAPH— ON    A    LrBERTINE. 

THIS  is  but  a  world  of  sorrow; 
Live  to-day — and  die  to-morrow; 
Death  has  ended  thy  long  doubt, 
AH  thy  prospects  are  struck  out! 


205 


PSALM  I. 

HAPPY  the  man  that  still  doth  shun 
The  way  in  which  th'  ungodly  run; 
Who  takes  not  counsel  at  their  hands, 
Nor  in  the  way  of  sinners  stands. 

He  will  avoid  th'  unhallow'd  seat 
Where  sons  of  belial  may  retreat; 
The  atheist  he  cannot  bear; 
He  knows  that  the  profane  are  there! 

He  loves  to  read  by  morning  light, 
And  meditates  both  day  and  night; 
The  records  of  his  Maker's  will 
Are  his  delight  and  business  still. 

He,  as  a  stately  tree,  shall  grow 
Where  genial  streamlets  gently  flow; 
While  from  his  strong  and  nurtur'd  root, 
Shall  blossoms  all  immortal  shoot. 

His  fruit  in  season  shall  be  seen; 
His  leaf  shall  flourish,  ever  green; 
For  heaven  on  his  works  shall  shine, 
And  show  his  deeds  are  all  divine. 

But  the  ungodly  are  not  so, — 
For  when  careering  tempests  blow, 
They  shall  as  chaff  afar  be  driv'n, 
And  scatter'd  by  the  breath  of  heav'n. 
18* 


206  WHAT    IS    MAN   MADE    FOR? 

They,  in  the  judgment,  shall  not  stand 
The  Judge's  just  avenging  hand; 
He  shall  appoint  their  souls  a  place, 
Remov'd  from  all  the  righteous  race. 

Th'  ungodly  and  the  pious  too, 
Are  always  in  Jehovah's  view; 
He  knows  the  righteous  man  full  well, 
But  turns  transgressors  down  to  hell. 


WHAT  IS  MAN  MADE  FOR? 

WHAT  is  man  made  for — did  you  say? 
To  squander  precious  time  awray? 
To  eat  and  sleep,  and  sport,  and  drink, 
And  to  unconscious  nothing  sink? 

To  eat  and  drink? — crows  do  the  same; 
Nor  do  we  think  those  birds  to  blame; 
And  so  will  the  mean,  filthy  swine, 
And  ev'ry  other  sort  of  kine! 

Just  give  a  pig  enough  to  eat, 
He  tramps  the  rest  beneath  his  feet; 
And  he  will  grunt  and  snore  away 
The  residue  of  his  short  day! 

Avaunt! — Ye  wiser  than  your  Lord, 
Who  now  has  left  it  on  record, 
That  they  who  sleep  shall  wake,  too  late. 
In  an  eternal— changeless  state. 


47TH   PSALM.  207 


'Tis  time,  ye  dunces,  to  be  wise, 
Lest  death  unseal  your  sleeping  eyes; 
If  mis'ry  follow  in  the  rear, 
Alas!  there  is  no  sleeping  there! 


THE  47TH  PSALM. 

O  FOR  a  general  burst  of  joy, 

To  God  the  universal  king; 
Let  all  their  hearts  and  hands  employ, 

And  songs  of  triumph  gladly  bring. 

Jesus,  the  God,  ascends  above — 
Attendant  angels  shout  him  nigh; 

He  reigns  the  Lord  of  life  and  love, 
And  now  he  lives  no  more  to  die! 

Let  trumps  of  lucid  gold  proclaim 
The  honors  of  our  great  High  Priest; 

He  lives! — and  glory  to  his  name, 
Engraves  his  people  on  his  breast. 

With  holy  zeal — with  awe  profound — 
Thy  praise,  O  King,  we  would  rehearse; 

When  angels  fall  before  the  sound, 
Let  man  bring  no  unmeaning  verse! 

In  Jacob  was  thy  place  of  old, 

Israel  was  thy  peculiar  race; 
But  thou  hast,  Lord,  another  fold, 

And  Gentiles  learn  thy  righteousness. 


208  THERE    IS    A    DAY. 

The  heathen  tribes  shall  all  submit — 
For  'tis  to  thee  the  pow'r  belongs; 

And  princes  of  the  people  sit, 

And  crown  thee  in  their  choral  songs. 

Reign,  O  thou  great  Jehovah,  reign; 

The  shields  of  all  the  earth  are  thine; 
Let  thy  religion  rear  her  fane, 

And  on  the  darkest  nations  shine. 


THERE  IS  A  DAY. 

THERE  is  a  day  without  a  night, 
A  sun  that  shall  forever  shine; 

That  day  has  everlasting  light, 

That  sun  beams  with  a  light  divine. 

There  is  a  day  without  a  cloud, 

A  clime  where  tempests  never  rise, 
No  darkness  shall  that  day  enshroud, 
-  That  clime  is  far  beyond  these  skies. 

There  is  a  day  forever  bright, 

A  place  that  can  no  changes  know; 

That  day  will  yield  supreme  delight, 
That  place  retains  no  shade  of  woe. 

There  is  a  day  that  has  no  end, 
An  atmosphere  that's  all  serene; 

That  day  its  moments  cannot  spend, 
That  atmosphere  shall  deck  the  scene. 


THE    SPIRIT.  209 

There  is  a  day  that  ends  rny  grief, 

A  calm  that  ne'er  shall  cause  a  sigh; 
That  day  shall  give  me  full  relief, 

That  calm  o'erspreads  a  higher  sky. 

There  is  a  day  where  Jesus  reigns, 
A  land  where  all  the  Christians  meet; 

That  day  dissolves  the  mourner's  chains, 
That  land  has  happiness  complete. 

That  day,  that  sun,  that  atmosphere, 
That  clime,  that  land,  that  light  is  mine; 

That  Jesus  is  my  Savior  here, 
And  calms  and  tempests,  Lord,  are  thine! 

That  place  I  hope  through  thee  to  find, 

That  calm  retreat  I  shall  obtain; 
And  leaving  earthly  cares  behind, 

With  thee,  my  God,  forever  reign! 


THE    SPIRIT.— JOB  iv,  13-21. 

IN  thoughts  from  visions  of  returning  night, 
When  slumbers  deep  had  veil'd  my  mortal  sight, 
Fear  came  upon  me,  and  my  bones  did  shake, — 
A  spirit  pass'd  that  caused  my  flesh  to  qua£e; — 
My  hair  stood  up — the  form  I  could  not  see, 
Yet — it  stood  still — an  image  still  to  me! — 
Deep  silence  reign 'd — I  heard  a  voice: — "O  dust, 
Shall  mortal  man  than  heaven  be  more  just? 
Shall  he  pretend  to  greater  purity? 
He  trusts  not  man,  and  angels  fools  may  be: 


210  EPITAPH. 

If  so,  what  trust  repose  in  forms  of  clay, 
Who  dwell  in  dust  and  soon  must  pass  away? 
Crush'd  as  we  are  before  the  feeble  moth, 
Spoil'd  as  it  spoils  the  beauty  of  the  cloth? 
From  dust  we  came — to  dust  must  we  return; 
Thus  man  must  perish  with  the  coming  morn! 
From  morn  till  evening  onward  doth  he  glide, 
His  excellency  will  riot  long  abide; 
And  with  his  utmost  pomp  and  glitfring  show, 
He  lives  and  dies,  at  best,  a  fool  below!" 


LINES. 

Inscribed  to  Miss  S.  B. 

WHEN  all  those  stars  that  gild  yon  glitt'ring  arch, 
And  sun  and  moon  shall  cease  their  shining  inarch, 
When  this  unwieldy  globe  shall  sink  in  fire, 
Then  shall  Susannah,  deathless  as  her  sire, 
Safe  from  disease  and  ev'ry  dread  decline, 
In  all  the  vigor  of  an  angel  shine. 


EPITAPH  FOR  W.  S.— AGED  TWO  YEARS. 

SNATCH'D  away  in  early  bloom, 
From  the  cradle  to  the  tomb; 
Cruel  death,  thou  tyrant  grim, 
Thinks  of  who  think  not  on  him! 
Man,  awake — he's  always  nigh,— 
Who  wijl  next  be  call'd  to  die? 


211 


THE  PRESENCE  OF  GOD  DESIRABLE. 

LET  poets  tell  of  bubbling  springs, 

And  paint  the  shady  grove; 
To  me  they  are  unheeded  things, 

If  God  withdraws  his  love. 

Jesus,  the  object  of  my  hope, 

Has  set  my  soul  on  flame; 
My  fallen  spirits  soon  mounts  up, 

Whene'er  I  hear  his  name! 

For  me,  He  left  His  Father's  throne 

And  put  on  my  frail  form; 
And  by  his  last  expiring  groan, 

He  saved  a  sinful  worm! 

What  shall  I  render  to  the  Lord, 

For  favors  so  divine! 
I'd  praise  Thy  name,  and  trust  Thy  word 

To  save  this  soul  of  mine. 

My  heart  shall  daily  seek  Thy  face, 

And  needed  good  implore, 
And  when  I  feel  my  want  of  grace, 

Then  I  will  ask  for  more. 

O  may  my  faith  and  zeal  increase, 

And  banish  every  fear; 
At  last,  Lord,  bring  me  home  in  peace, 

And  I  will  praise  Thee  there! 


212 


ASPIRING  AFTER  GOD. 

IN  Thee  I  find  a  constant  spring, 

A  secret  rill  of  joy; 
My  confidence  in  Thee  I  sing, 

And  'tis  a  sweet  employ! 

Thy  being  is  my  happiness; 

Thy  grace  my  soul  o'erflows; 
Thy  word  allays  all  my  distress, 

And  mitigates  my  woes. 

Extend  thy  blessed  wide  domain; 

My  roving  thoughts  control; 
O!  exercise  thy  glorious  reign, 

And  subjugate  my  soul! 

With  all  thy  countless  hosts  above, 
I  now  would  raise  my  voice; 

And  as  those  ministers  of  love, 
In  Thee  I  would  rejoice. 

Though  not  admitted  to  the  sight 

Those  holy  orders  see; 
Yet,  Lord,  Thou  know'st  'tis  my  delight, 

With  them,  to  worship  Thee! 

I  love  Thee,  Lord; — thus  far  I  know; 

The  rest,  I  cannot  tell; 
The  tale  cannot  be  told  below; — 

It  is  unspeakable! 


213 


WOMAN. 

To  lovely  woman  was  the  promise  giv'n, 

Of  peace  'twixt  man  and  much  offended  heav'n; 

And  lovely  woman,  taken  from  man's  side, 

The  strongest  test  of  virtue  will  abide; 

But  if  she  lets  her  lawless  passions  reign, 

The  sight  of  such  a  form  would  give  us  pain! 

From  lovely  woman  Jesus  had  his  birth, 
And  good-will  reign'd,  abounding  on  the  earth; 
'Twas  lovely  woman  wept  at  Jesu's  feet, 
And  watch'd  the  place  of  his  last  sad  retreat; 
She  saw  the  angel  loose  him  from  his  prison, 
And  cried  with  joy — "Indeed  the  Lord  has  risen!" 


CASE  OF  AN  AWAKENED  SINNER. 

CONSCIENCE  awakes  each  guilty  fear, 
Guilt  meets  my  eyes  with  horrid  glare; 
While  grief  distracts  my  burden'd  mi  ml. 
And  death  and  hell  pursue  behind. 
Almighty  vengeance  frowns  on  high, 
His  thunders  murmur  round  the  sky; 
While  dreadful  flames  array  his  throne, 
And  wait  impatient  to  be  gone! 
Where  shall  I  hide  my  guilty  head? 
O  could  I  wrap  myself  in  shade! 
But  rocks,  and  mountains  cannot  save, 
Nor  midnight  from  the  gloomy  grave! 
19 


214  THE    OBLIGATIONS  OF   MAN. 

Ah,  whither  shall  my  spirit  fly, 
To  shun  his  sin-avenging  eye? 
To  Thee,  I  come,  Incarnate  God, 
O  sprinkle  me  with  thy  rich  blood! 
Then  justice  stern,  shall  frown  no  more; 
Those  precious  drops  shall  well  secure, 
My  soul  from  all  attacks  of  sin, 
And  I  enjoy  a  heaven  within! 
Lord,  I  adore  that  purple  stream; 
Thy  blood  is  mighty  to  redeem; 
O  may  it  wash  out  ev'ry  stain, 
And  break  the  grand  usurper's  reign! 
Then  shall  my  mind  be  all  serene, 
And  conscience  too  shall  smile  within; 
Thy  thunders  all  shall  be  laid  by, 
And  grief,  and  guilt,  and  fear  shall  fly. 


THE  OBLIGATIONS  OF  MAN  SUPERIOR  TO 
THOSE  OF  ANGELS. 

YE  saints  of  the  Most  High,  attend, 
And  hymn  your  great  Almighty  Friend; 
Proclaim  His  honors  far  abroad, 
And  hail  the  Great  Incarnate  God! 
Not  angels  that  surround  the  throne, 
And  chant  His  praise  in  songs  unknown, 
Are  half  so  much  obliged  as  we, 
To  his  infinite  majesty! 
They  never  felt  such  depths  of  woe, 
Nor  did  they  ever  sink  so  low; 
They  never  shall  be  raised  so  high, 
Nor  to  such  heights  of  majesty. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  215 

Less  favor'd  were  those  heavenly  pow'rs; 
Their  crowns  are  cheaper  far,  than  ours; 
For  as  they  in  God's  image  stood, 
They  never  cost  the  Lord,  his  blood! 
For  them  he  shed  no  drops  divine, 
Nor  did  his  nature  with  theirs  join; 
For  them  he  utter'd  not  a  groan, 
But  died  for  man,  and  man  alone. 
Then  let  us  with  the  angels  vie, 
And  let  our  songs  ascend  on  high; 
Our  obligations  are  far  more, 
And  may  we  more  than  they  adore. 
But,  Savior-God,  we  must  confess 
Our  need  of  thy  all-quick'ning  grace; 
Tune  thou  our  tongues  that  we  may  bring, 
Some  tribute  worthy  of  our  King. 
Send  down  thine  aid,  thou  Holy  Dove, 
And  warm  our  hearts  with  heavenly  love; 
So  shall  our  grov'lling  songs  arise, 
And  join  the  concert  of  the  skies. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

A    RUSTIC    TALE. 

'TWAS  at  the  age  of  fond  eighteen, 
I  felt  a  flame — what  did  it  mean! 
Ye  that  have  felt  fam'd  Cupid's  dart, 
Say,  was  it  that  which  pierced  my  heart? 

I  met,  upon  the  mountains  high, 
A  maid  about  as  old  as  I, 
Her  cheeks  were  of  a  rosy  hue, 
And  eyes  a  most  enchanting  blue. 


216  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Her  hair  was  of  a  raven  black; 
And  hung  in  ringlets  o'er  her  back; 
While  ev'ry  feature  of  her  face, 
Shone  with  a  most  superior  grace. 

Most  cordially  I  reach'd  my  hand, 
We  paused — 'twas  an  instinctive  stand — 
I,  fault'ring,  asked — "where  would  you  go? 
The  sun  is  getting  very  low!" 

She  said,  "I'm  going  to  yon  plain; 
To  morrow  father  houses  grain; 
And  I  must  go  and  cook  for  hands, 
That  do  the  business  on  his  lands." 

I  said — "You'd  better  turn  about; 
You  have  a  long  and  painful  route; 
Or  I  will  keep  you  company, 
If  it  agreeable  should  be!" 

"'I  thank  you,"  blushingly,  she  said; 
"I  must  acknowledge,  I'm  afraid; 
For  when  I  started  first  to  go, 
I  did  not  think  the  sun  so  low." 

In  conversation  on  the  way, 
Our  pathway  through  an  orchard  lay. 
And  then — the  moon,  it  shone  so  sweet, 
That,  both  at  once  we  took  a  seat. 

1  look'd  upon  her  brilliant  eye, 
And  quite  unconscious  brought  a  sigh; 
I  said,  "are  you  not  tired!  then  rest 
Your  pretty  form  upon  my  breast." 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

How  pleasantly  my  time  did  pass 
In  company  with  that  sweet  lass; 
And  when  the  moon  had  got  quite  low, 
I  hardly  thought  it  time  to  go! 

Oft  as  I  saw  her  after  that, 
My  simple  heart  went — pit-a-pat; 
And  though  I  strove  to  hide  the  flame, 
I  lov'd  her  person  and  her  name! 

But  swiftly  as  the  flying  cloud, 
The  night  my  morning  did  enshroud; 
My  brightest  hopes  went  down  ere  moon; 
For  hottest  love  grows  coolest  soon! 

The  angel  of  affliction  came, 

And  grasp'd  more  woes  than  I  can  name; 

The  season  of  enchantment  fled, 

And  darkness  all  my  schemes  o'erspread. 

At  length  I  broke  loose  from  the  ground, 
That  did  so  long  my  prospects  bound, 
And  to  her  father's  did  repair, 
To  meet  my  lov'd  Fidelia  there. 

But  how  shall  I  describe  the  pain, 
That  shock'd  my  heart,  and  shook  my  brain? 
My  hopes  had,  as  the  rainbow,  fled, 
Fidelia  now  was — more  than  dead! 

I  stepp'd  into  the  old  man's  hall; 
There  stood  the  girl  I  thought  my  all; 
She  gave  to  Giles  her  lily  hand; — 
The  sight  I  could  no  longer  stand! 
19* 


218  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

I  turn'd  away; — profound  disgust, 
And  anger,  made  me  stamp  the  dust; 
"Fidelia's  not  thy  name" — I  said, 
"Now  thou  art  to  another  wed!" 

I  truly  feared  my  heart  would  break, 
And  did  not  of  the  feast  partake; 
But  hasted  off  and  sigh'd — "No  trust 
Can  be  attach'd  to  woman's  dust! 

"But  if  you're  pleas'd,  then  be  it  so; — 
Perhaps  you  might  have  wrought  my  woe; 
For  one  who  is  so  false  as  you, 
For  no  one  but  a  Giles  would  do! 

"Then  let  him  take  his  weary  load, 
And  bear  it,  as  the  wretched  toad 
The  harrow's  iron  teeth  must  bear; 
Thus  goes  the  world — Giles  has  his  share!" 

But  still  in  the  dead  hour  of  night, 
Her  form  would  float  before  my  sight; 
And  still  she  seemed  to  look  as  gay 
And  charming  as  the  bloom  of  May! 

•    But  since  that  time  I've  found  that  all 
Is  fickle  on  this  earthly  ball; 
Then  why  should  I  a  woman  blame, 
Since  male  and  female  act  the  same? 

Whether  the  female,  man,  or  boy, 
They  all  will  snatch  the  present  joy; 
Whate'er  they  may  profess  to  aim, 
For  profit  most  will  smother  shame! 


219 

«   • 
FRIENDSHIP. 

Composed  at  the  request  of  a  young  lady. 

FRIENDSHIP!  principle  divine; 

'Tis  of  a  celestial  birth; 
Though  in  heaven  is  its  shrine, 

Yet  it  sometimes  visits  earth. 
Friendship!  it  is  more  than  shade; 

'Tis  a  home  for  the  oppressed; 
Thousands  has  it  happy  made, 

Wiped  the  tear  from  eyes  distressed. 
Goldsmith  slander'd  thy  good  name; 

Thou  hast  never  left  thy  friend; 
Undiminished  is  thy  flame, 

And  it  blazes  to  the  end! 
Death  cannot  thy  force  destroy; 

For  thou  burnest  in  the  skies; — 
In  the  realms  of  endless  joy, 

Thou  wilt  waim  all  paradise! 


LOVE. 

Written  at  the  request  of  a  young  lady— on  the  spot. 

LOVE!  fairest  of  the  heavenly  train, 

That  visits  oft  the  human  breast; 
In  thee  ten  thousand  beauties  reign, 

That  robs  young  Delia's  mind  of  rest. 
When  first  she  saw  fair  Edmund's  eyes, 

They  shot  a  brilliant,  pleasing  dart, 
That  makes  some  strange  sensations  rise, 

And  flutter  still  around  her  heart! 


220 
THE  MARCH  OF  MIND, 

AND  THE   PERFECTION   OP   BEING  IN   A   FUTURE   STATE. 

Written  in  haste  for  a  Lady; 

THIS  Album,  worn  by  swiftly-rolling  years, 
Though  now  its  page  a  spotless  white  appears, 
Shall,  mould'ring  fall,  at  last,  to  sad  decay, 
And  all  its  glitt'ring  splendors  fade  away. 
Not  thus  the  beauties  of  young  Mary's  mind, — 
They  shall  expand,  as  is  by  heav'n  design 'd; 
And  as  the  blooming,  much  admir'd  rose, 
To  future  suns  their  various  charms  disclose. 
External  majesty  of  form  and  grace, 
With  all  the  lustre  of  the  human  face, 
To  Time's  destroying  tooth,  at  length  must  yield, 
And  pains  and  wrinkles  keep  the  weary  field. 
But  mind,  still  marching  onward,  shall  arise, 
Till  it  ascends  its  own,  pure,  native  skies, 
Bathes  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  day, 
And  flings  the  grosser  dregs  of  earth  away! 
When  all  the  works  of  nature  shall  expire, 
And  art  shall  yield  to  all-consuming  fire, 
The  mind,  with  Deity,  shall  still  advance, 
And  lead  the  Morning  Stars  in  their  bright  dance! 
Yes — Mind,  descended  from  the  Eternal  Sire, 
Shall  live  when  all  like  matter  shall  expire; — 
Live  with  the  conqu'ror  on  his  shining  throne, 
And  to  the  Almighty's  fiat  add—"  'Tis  done!" 


THE    HOLY    CITY.  221 

And  when  the  new  creation  shall  appear, 
And  gladsome  saints  hail  the  millenial  year, 
The  mind  to  heights  before  unknown  shall  soar, 
And  measure  time  by  days  and  months  no  more! 
Thus,  Mary,  shalt  thou  live  with  Deity, 
Immortalized,  from  all  corruption  free; 
And  when  thy  body  leaves  the  clay-cold  tomb, 
In  youth  eternal  at  his  right  hand  bloom. 


THE   HOLY   CITY. 

THERE  is  a  holy  city  where  happy  spirits  dwell, 
Beyond  the  raging  power  of  satan,  death,  and  hell; 
The  other  side  of  Jordan  this  lovely  place  is  found, 
And  Jesus,  our  great  captain,  has  wall'd  it  well  around. 
It  has  three  gates  at  eastward,  and  also  on  the  west, 
Through  which  ten  thousands  enter  into  their  long-sought 

rest; 

Three  gates  upon  the  southward,  and  also  on  the  north, 
Through  which  go  countless  millions  as  waters  breaking 

forth. 

The  colors  of  the  rainbow  those  wide-spread  gates  adorn, 
The  fields  those  gates  encompass  are  found  without  a 

thorn; 

The  walls  are  all  of  jasper — a  bright  transparent  green, 
The  mansions  too  are  golden,  and  beautify  the  scene. 
The  walls  have  twelve  foundations,  and  made  of  pre- 
cious stone; 

The  names  of  the  apostles  are  graven  thereupon; 
The  buildings  too  are  lofty,  and  as  in  living  flame, 
The  whole  twelve  tribes  of  Israel  emblazon'd  are  by  name 


222  THE   HOLY    CITV. 

Its  streets  are  of  pure  gold,  and  transparent  as  the  glass, 
Twelve  holy  angels  guard  them  lest  the  unclean  should 

pass; 

For  nought  that  is  unholy  shall  ever  enter  in; 
The  nature  of  the  Godhead  forbids  th'  approach  of  sin. 
A  river  clear  as  ciystal  there  issues  from  the  throne, 
The  half  of  all  its  virtues  was  never  as  yet  known; 
It  cheers  the  holy  city,  and  in  its  gentle  flow, 
It  oft  refreshes  millions  while  travelling  below. 
On  this  side  of  the  river  there  is  a  sacred  tree, 
And  by  its  holy  foliage  what  numbers  sav'd  shall  be; 
It  spreads  its  verdant  branches  and  grows  on  either  side, 
It  heals  the  many  nations  for  whom  the  Savior  died. 
Amidst  that  holy  city  it  spreads  its  branches  too, 

While  a  delightful  river  meanders  gently  through; 

It  runs  in  copious  torrents,  and  as  it  sweetly  runs, 

It  carries  consolation  to  distant  burning  suns. 

That  city  has  no  temple,  and  Jesus  is  its  light; 

Its  gates  are  always  open,  and  there  there  is  no  night; 

The  Lord  God  and  the  Lamb  are  the  light  of  that  good 
place, 

For  there  he  shines  effulgent  with  all  his  beams  of  grace. 

The  nations  that  are  sav'd  shall  enjoy  that  heavenly  light, 

And  all  the  radiant  glory  with  which  it  shines  so  bright; 

In  centre  of  the  city  the  throne  they  shall  surround, 

And  charm  those  happy  regions  by  an  immortal  sound. 

The  curse  is  there  abolish'd,  and  death  shall  be  no  more, 

And  we  shall  reign  forever  on  that  eternal  shore; 

All  sickness  shall  be  banish 'd,  and  pain  forever  fly; 

For  God  shall  wipe  away  our  tears  beneath  that  pleasant 
sky. 


THE    HOLY    CITY.  223 

There  is  an  end  to  trouble  when  we  obtain  that  rest; 
Nothing  can  interrupt  us  so  near  our  Savior's  breast; 
There  songs  of  deathless  triumph  our  happy  souls  shall 

sing, 

And  hail  the  conquering  Jesus,  our  captain  and  our  king. 
A  crown  of  endless  glory  shall  decorate  each  brow; 
The  saints  bear  palms  of  vict'ry; — methinks  I  see  them 

now; 

Dress'd  in  white  robes  of  linen  on  Jesus  they  shall  gaze, 
And  each  succeeding  prospect  increase   their  solemn 

praise. 

Jesus  shall  be  the  subject  of  each  loud-sounding  song, 
And  all  the  choirs  of  heaven  shall  roll  the  theme  along; 
The  plan  of  man's  redemption  demands  our  highest  praise, 
And  Jesus  claims  the  merit  for  his  abounding  grace. 
We  shall  out-sing  the  angels — they  never  sunk  so  low; 
Nor  could  they  be   redeem'd   as  we  from   such  great 

depths  of  woe; 
Our  songs  shall  make  the  heavens  with  endless  praise 

resound, 

And  hell's  own  ghastly  tyrant  feel  an  eternal  wound. 
Remov'd  from  men  and  devils  that  would  our  peace  molest, 
Recognis'd  by  the  Savior,  and  gathered  to  His  breast; 
We'll  meet  our  old  companions  who  long  had  gone  before, 
And  gladly  hail  each  other,  on  that  delightful  shore. 
Through  radiant  files  of  angels,  our  souls  shall  sweetly 

move, 

And  each  succeeding  object  add  a  new  flame  of  love; 
Enjoyments  shall  be  various  as  vast  eternity, 
And  Jesus  the  whole  soul  of  those  grand  displays  shall  be. 
Each  of  our  sev'ral  senses  shall  then  the  medium  be, 
Of  various  heavenly  knowledge;  and  the  whole  Trinity, 


224  THE   POT-VALIANT   ATHEIST. 

Shall  join  to  make  us  happy;  and,  think,  what  Godhead 

can 

Bestow  on  his  Creation — his  favorite  creature,  man! 
Not  all  the  harps  of  heaven  could  make  a  happy  place, 
If  Jesus  should  suspend  the  effusions  of  his  grace; 
But  we  shall  have  his  presence  to  all  eternity, 
And  who  can  tell — can  Gabriel? — how  happy  we  shall  be! 
Friends,  relatives  are  nothing — 'tis  Jesu's  saving  grace 
The  beatific  vision  of  his  delightful  face; 
The  glorious  effusions  that  from  his  presence  flow; 
These,  these  would  light  up  glory  in  the  domains  of  woe! 
All  hail!  My  priest  and  prophet,  my  Savior,  and  my  king, 
Thy  boundless  condescension,  and  love,  I  gladly  sing; 
The  city  is  before  me — its  beauties  I  survey, 
And  through,  pure  mental  optics,  I  see  it  far  away. 
O  when  shall  I  pass  over  into  that  heavenly  land, 
And  in  the  holy  city,  take  my  eternal  stand? 
When  will  my  Savior  call  me  to  loose  from  all  below, 
And  up  to  that  bright  city  to  joys  immortal  go! 


THE  POT-VALIANT  ATHEIST. 

I  KNEW  a  valiant  atheist,  who  said  there  was  no  hell. 
I'll  say  his  name  was  Jimmerson;  perhaps  you  knew  him 

well; 

He  would  affect  the  gentleman,  but  was  a  perfect  ape; 
He  hardly  knew  what  scriptures  were,  in  any  sense  or 

shape. 


TOT-VALIANT    ATHEIST.  225 

The  bible  he  had  never  read,  except  it  were  to  find 

A  portion  that  he  thought  might  suit  a  man  of  lawless 

mind; 

He  could  not  quote  one  single  verse  in  all  the  bible  through, 
And  yet,  this  ass  in  human  form  would  boast  how  much 

he  knew. 

He  said  religion  was  priestcraft  and  all  its  precepts  vain; 
He  followed,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  red-nosed  Thomas 

Paine; 

His  principles  he  did  avow;  but  O!  when  he  fell  sick, 
A  single  text  would  sting  his  soul — ah'  to  the  very  quick! 

He  said  those  people  all  were  fools  who  made  so  much 

outcry, 
When  they  were  in  a  fever  laid  and  thought  that  they 

would  die; 

But  as  we  trace  this  gentleman,  you'll  find  it  was  not  long, 
Before  he  was  to  bed  confin'd,  and  then  he  changed  his 

song. 

The  yellow  fever  press'd  him  sore;  then  he  would  roar 

and  cry, 

"O  send  away  for  some  good  man;  for  I'm  not  fit  to  die; 
If  from  the  earth,  in  this  sad  state,  my  spirit  now  should 

g°> 
There's  nothing  for  me  to  expect,  but  everlasting  woe!" 

The  preachers   round   the   neighborhood  this  penitent 

call'd  in, 
That  they  might  pray  the  Lord  would  take  away  his  load 

of  sin; 

And  'tis  no  wonder;  for,  I'm  sure,  he  had  no  trifling  load; 
His  actions  were  as  foul  as  SIN,  and  ugly  as  a  TOAD! 
20 


226  A    SERIOUS    THOUGHT. 

*'O  if  the  Lord  will  spare  me  now,"  he  to  the  preacher 

said, 

"In  future  life,  I  am  assur'd,  a  diff'rent  path  I'll  treadJ* 
He  often  called  upon  his  wife,  who  on  her  sick  bed  lay, 
And,  with  great  earnestness  of  soul,  he  pressyd  on  her  to 

pray. 

She  said — "Don't  be  afraid  of  me — to  your  condition  see; 
If  you  are  so  dispos'd,  then  pray — you'll  have  no  let 

from  me." 
You  would  have  thought  he  was  a  saint,  so  earnest  was 

his  cry; 
But  how  he  managed  this  affair  we'll  tell  you  by  and  by. 

His  sickness  shortly  took  a  turn,  and  Jimmeison  got  well, 
And  then  he  had  the  impudence  to  make  a  jest  of  hell. 
His  good  impressions  wore  away,  if  any  such  he  had, 
And  when  the  neighbors  saw  the  change,  they  thought 
he  was  too  bad! 

But  Jiinmersjon  is  Jiving  still — his -prayers  are  all  forgot; 
But  he  will  be  called  off  some  day  whether  prepared  or 

not; 

An.d  should  he  die  while  I'm  alive,  I'll  write  his  epitaph, 
"Here  lies  a  fool  who  was  enough— to  make  the  devil 

Jaugh!" 


A  SERIOUS  THOUGHT. 

THE  man  who  bailers  bliss  for  endless  woe, 
Exchanges  solid  treasures  for  the  show; 
Outlives  his  hopes,  and  parts  with  gold  for  dross, — 
Eternity  alone  defines  his  loss! 


227 

THE  EXISTENCE  OF  GOD, 

Proclaimed  by  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  Thundew,  &c. 

Go,  ask  Niagara,  with  deaf 'ning  roar, 
Astounding  those  upon  its  rock-bound  shore; 
"Who  form'd  this  volume  vast  of  liquid  force, 
Sweeping,  resistless,  all  things  in  its  course?" 
It  speaks  in  thunder—"  'Tis  that  forming  God, 
Who  spread  yon  sparkling  canopy  abroad;  v 

Who  metes  the  ocean's  waters  in  his  hand, 
Who  launch'd  yon  pond'rous  spheres  and  form'd  the  land; 
Who  weighs  the  mountains  in  his  massy  scales — 
Whose  intellectual  resource  never  fails, 
But  who  remains  all  pow'rful  and  all  wise, — 
The  mind  that  rules  the  earth  and  sways  the  skies!" 

Go,  ask  the  thunders  as  they  bellow  round, 
And  shake  the  mountains  and  the  solid  ground: — 
"Who  form'd  the  clouds  in  which  ye  make  your  bed, 
Or  laid  the  floor  on  which  ye  roll  o'er  head?" 
They  roar  aloud— "We  are  Jehovah's  voice, 
And  call  upon  his  chosen  to  rejoice; — 
For  though  we  rattle  through  those  cloudy  plains, 
We  plainly  speak — Jehovah — Jesus  reigns!" 

Go,  ask  the  lightnings,  as  on  fiery  wing, 
In  sportive  twist,  their  fearless  bolts  they  fling, 
Marching  sublime,  in  all  their  bright  array, 
I ;  pou  the  storm  that  blots  the  face  of  day; — 
They  answer — "  'Tis  a  God  that  form'd  us  all; 
We  ever  fly  obsequious  to  his  call; 
Whether  we  purge  the  air,  and  thus  thy  breath 
Prolong — or  blast  by  unexpected  death!" 


228 

\ 

BURNING  OF  THE  M.  E.  BOOK  CONCERN; 

OR,    THE    WINGED    MESSENGER. 


Our  holy  and  our  beautiful  house,  where  our  fathers  praised 
Thee,  is  burned  up  with  fire:  and  all  our  pleasant  things  are  laid 
waste.  Isaiah  Ixiv,  11. 


THE  fire  in  Joseph's  house  begins  to  burn, 

And  who  the  fury  of  the  stroke  can  turn? 

It  breaks  forth  through  its  walls,  and  curling  smoke, 

And  spirey  flame  surrounding  ether  choke! 

They  swell — they  rage  as  a  volcano  wide, 
And  climb  along  the  building's  lofty  side, 
A  dreadful  emblem  of  that  fiery  day, 
When  all  created  matter  melts  away! 

The  orphan's  hope  is  laid  forever  low, 

The  widow's  cries  augment  the  mighty  woe; 

And  by  the  ruinous,  afflictive  blast, 

The  prop  of  thousands  to  the  ground  is  cast! 

But  see,  along  the  angry -looking  sky, 

A  fiery  leaf  as  a  meteor  fly; 

And  whirling  through  the  thicken 'd  atmosphere, 

It  proves  an  om'nous — winged  messenger' 

"Our  holy  and  our  beauteous  house,  where  long 

Our  fathers  chanted  the  adoring  song, 

Is  laid  in  ruins  by  devouring  flame; 

Our  pleasant  things  lie  waste — without  a  name!" 


BURNING  OF  THE  BOOK  CONCERN.       229 

It  has  a  voice! — Its  import  may  be  read; 

Let  ministers  and  members  be  afraid; 

The  Lord  is  in  his  holy  temple;— Earth!  be  still 

And  hear  the  mandates  of  his  holy  will! 

When  luxury,  venality,  and  pride, 
Shall  over  any  hou?ej  or  church  preside, 
The  anger  of  the  Lord  shall  fiercely  burn, 
And  all  its  thoughtless  projects  overturn. 

Build,  if  ye  please,  the  Lord  will  put  you  down, 
And  turn  to  shame  your  schemes  of  high  renown, 
Ye  have  forsaken  good  John  Wesley's  path, 
And  yet -see  not  th'  impending  storm  of  wrath. 

Our  colleges  and  seminaries  rise, 

And  worldly  pomp  has  put  out  half  our  eyes; 

While  those — "the  sent  of  God" — must  learn  to  wield 

All  earthly  learning — or — give  up  the  field! 

The  Maxficldx  now — a  long  and  useful  line — 
Must  grammar  learn — to  prove  their  gifts  divine; 
God  cannot  now  an  Amos  qualify; — 
He  must  be  learn'd  by  men  to  prophesy! 

The  Nelsons  must  their  bibles  all  resign, 

Unless  their  learning  more  than  parts  should  shine; 

There's  nothing  like  an  inspiration  now, 

A  man  can  preach  no  more  that  used  to  plough! 

The  maniac-rage,  for  letter-learned  men, 
Makes  presses  groan  with  efforts  from  the  pen; 
And  vainly  do  ye  think,  God  never  can, 
Without  the  college,  make  a  preaching  man! 
20  * 


230  THE    LAST    DAY. 

And  now,  to  "place  these  matters  all  at  rights," 
Our  stationed  preachers  must  conform  to  "tights;"* 
Must  mimic  what  they  see — just  as  an  ape — 
And  put  their  knock-kneed  joints  in  some  good  shape! 

"Is  there  religion,"  says  one,  "in  a  coat?" — 
As  much  as  in  the  knife  that  cuts  your  throat! 
But  is  conformity  to  fashion  sin? 
So  says  the  book,  and  conscience  speaks  within! 

"O  we  are  rising"— said  an  honest  friend; 
1  fear  our  raptures  in  the  shade  will  end; 
"We  rise!" — in  what? — In  fashion's  giddy  rule, 
And  prove  we  have  not  been  at  the  right  school! 

Love,  O  how  cold!  how  weak  our  charity! 
I  would  our  preachers  and  their  charge  were  free; 
But  O,  the  gathering  storm,  I  fear,  is  nigh — 
The  cloud  already  lowers  o'er  the  sky! 

My  church!  I  love  thee  still,  with  all  thy  stains, 
But  cannot  dream  of  music  in  thy  chains; 
Repent — reform— or  else  the  judgment  dread, 
Will  fall  with  tenfold  vengeance  on  thy  head. 


THE  LAST  DAY. 

THROUGH  vistas  of  succeeding  years,  I  see 
The  fall  of  Time,  and  his  long  progeny; 
The  works  of  nature  and  of  art  destroy'd, 
And  this  wide  world  one  vast  and  flaming  void: 
For  when  the  Morning  Stars  began  their  lay, 
And  usher'd  in  the  blushing,  new-born  day, 
*  This  remark  is  not  general. 


THE    LAST    DAY.  231 

The  pow'rful  arm  that  yonder  orb  sustains, 

Who  sheds  his  golden  beams  o'er  earth's  broad  plains, 

Resolved  that,  since  man's  desolating  fall, 

Had  brought  a  with'ring  curse  upon  us  all, 

He  would  destroy  the  worlds  his  hands  had  made, 

And  cast  their  growing  glories  in  the  shade; 

Renew  their  face — their  total  form  renew, 

And  make  them  far  more  bright  and  glorious  too. 

Hence,  holy  men  that  prophesied  of  old, 

Of  earth's  approaching  doom  have  long  foretold; 

But  O,  the  scene  must  baffle  human  thought, 

Nor  can  we  speak  its  grandeur  as  we  ought. 

Our  highest  language  fails — and  words  are  vain; 

Imagination  scarcely  can  sustain 

So  grand  a  view, — a  picture  so  august, — 

Our  brightest  figures  are  as  dark  as  dust; 

Yet  madly  will  my  muse  attempt  to  soar, 

Then  drops  her  wing — and  is  content  t'  adore! 

Ye  Morning  Stars,  who  witness'd  that  grand  scene, 

When  first  the  sun  shone  splendidly  serene; 

When  from  the  mass  of  a  chaotic  night, 

He  bursted  forth  with  beams  of  peerless  bright, 

Aid  me, — alas!  your  aid  is  vain; — Adore! 

Ye  saw  his  brightness  once — it  beams  no  more! 

His  face  is  veil'd  in  sackcloth  as  of  hair, 

And  noise,  and  flame,  and  thunders  fill  the  air; 

Combustion  dire,  and  lightnings  lurid  flame, 

And  clang'rous  trumpets  God's  approach  proclaim. 

See,  far  above  those  shining,  twinkling  balls, 

That  seern  to  be  the  outer  works  of  his  grand  walls, 

Upon  a  great  white  throne  the  judge  descend, 

And  all  terrestrial  pomp  and  glory  end! 


232  THE    LAST    DAY. 

Behold  the  glittering  host  around  his  seat,— 

The  earth  and  heavens  from  his  face  retreat; 

The  tott'ring  mountains  fall — the  islands  fly, 

And  seek  a  shelter  from  his  piercing  eye! 

Jehovah  speaks  in  thunder  from  his  throne; 

"Go,  Gabriel,  go;  and  make  my  pleasure  known; 

Call  home  my  sleeping  saints  and  bid  them  rise, 

To  life,  and  light,  and  glory  in  the  skies." 

Hast  thou  beheld  the  moon  in  midnight  race, 

As  dark'ning  clouds  obscur'd  her  silver  face? 

A  greater  gloom  involves  her  orbit  now, 

And  crimson  clothes  her  dark  and  sickly  brow. 

She  shines  no  more! — The  planets  cease  to  roll, 

Nor  shape  their  courses  by  the  distant  pole; 

All  nature  halts — and  earth's  strong  pillars  bow — 

Ye  infidels,  your  God  is  coming  now! 

Bring  forth  your  chosen  bands,  Voltaire  and  Paine, 

Tindal  and  Hobbes; — but  ah !  th'  onset  is  vain; — 

Ye  shall  be  crush'd  before  the  Nazarene, 

And  deep  disgrace  shall  close  your  deathless  scene. 

The  groaning  earth  announces  God's  descent, 

Its  bowels  by  ten  thousand  earthquakes  rent; 

The  op'ning  graves  their  long-held  prey  restore, 

And  ocean  rolls  her  millions  to  the  shore. 

Th'  illustrious  dead  of  ancient  days  appear, 

And  those  of  modern  date  assemble  there; 

The  twice  ten  thousand  tongues  of  babbling  earth, 

Since  their  forefather,  Adam,  sprang  to  birth, 

Down  to  that  last  but  great  decisive  day, 

When  truth  shall  reign  with  an  impartial  sway. 

Insatiate  Death  disgorges  his  long  trust, 

And  millions  leave  their  iron  sleep  in  dust; 


THE    LAST    DAY.  233 

But  O,  what  num'rous  forms  that  day  must  yield. 
When  all  mankind  arc  brought  in  one  vast  field! 
The  crumbling  mausoleums  of  the  great, 
And  all  the  pomp  and  pride  of  regal  state, 
Shall  sink,  amid  the  all-devouring  flame, 
Nor  leave  one  single  vestige  of  a  name! 
But  see,  Jeh6vah  on  his  awful  throne, 
Proceeds  to  make  his  great  decision  known; 
A  court  of  clouds  his  grand  pavilion  spread, 
And  blazing  lightnings  play  around  his  head. 
Legions  of  angels  roll  his  fiery  cr\r, 
And  all  the  august  forms  of  heav'n  are  there; 
Principalities,  and  pow'rs,  and  dignities, 
And  seraphs  in  their  various  high  degrees. 
To  right  and  left  the  mingled  crowds  depart, 
But  O,  what  myriads  with  an  aching  heart; 
Yet  O!  the  joys  that  thrill  the  pious  breast, 
When  by  his  Lord  he  stands— a  saint  confest! 
Behold  the  Savior  to  the  righteous  turn; 
No  blighting  lightnings  in  his  countenance  burn; 
With  smiles  that  brighten  heavVs  vast  expanse, 
He  makes  the  hearts  of  joyful  millions  dance:— 
"Come  hither,  all  ye  blessed  of  the  Lord, 
Enter  my  joys  and  share  the  vast  reward;" 
Applauding  angels  hear  and  shout — "  'Tis  done! 
The  glory  be  to  God's  Eternal  Son!" 
But  to  the  hopeless  crowd  upon  the  left, 
Of  ev'ry  good  in  earth  and  heav'n  bereft, 
He  turns  indignant — and  lo!  ere  he  speaks, 
From  his  stern  brow  the  fiery  vengeance  breaks: — 
"Go,  ye  accurs'd,  my  angry  presence  fly, 
So  justly  doom'd  by  your  own  deeds  to  die; 


234  STANZAS. 

Go,  heir  the  meed  of  infamy  and  shame, 
Go,  dwell  forever  with  devouring  flame. 
The  place  for  fiends  of  hell  prepar'd — not  you; 
Such  is  the  portion  to  the  rebel  due!" 
See  now  the  hopeless,  helpless  sinner  go;— 
He  must  explore  the  sad  domains  of  woe; 
From  point  to  point  on  fiery  billows  toss'd, 
In  the  unfathomable  lake  forever  lost. 
But  see  king  Jesus  on  his  shining  throne, 
Lead  all  the  blood-bought  throng  in  triumph  on, 
The  everlasting  doors  are  open'd  wide, 
And  he  acknowledges  his  lawful  bride. 
The  righteous  now  in  long  procession  move, 
And  take  those  seats  prepared  for  them  above; 
Loud  hallelujahs  grace  the  grand  display, 
And  crowns  of  life  that  never  fade  away. 
Immortal  are  their  faculties — renewed 
In  spirit,  soul,  and  body,  pure  and  good; 
A  model  of  the  image  all  divine, 
In  God's  eternal  kingdom  thev  shall  shine. 


STANZAS. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  CAROLIVE  ELIZABETH,  daughter  of  Dr. 
F.  A.  McNEiLL,  of  Shepherdstown,  who  departed  this  life,  July 
23d,  1834,  aged  11  months  and  12  days. 


LOVELY,  blooming,  short-lived  flow'r, 
Tender  as  the  op'ning  rose, 

Withering  beauty  of  an  hour, 
How  I  long  for  thy  repose! 


There's  a  rest  beneath  the  sod, 
For  the  way-worn  pilgrim  found, 

When  his  soul  is  with  his  God, 
And  his  relics  under  ground. 

Child!  how  transient  was  thy  stayf 

Life  is  but  a  bitter  cup; 
Thou  hast  turn'd  thy  head  away, 

Didst  not  stay  to  drink  it  up! 

Born  to  suffer  for  a  time, 

Thou  hadst  just  begun  to  sip, 

When  from  yonder  healthful  cliine, 
Angels  bore  it  from  thy  lip! 

Go,  thou  infant  spirit,  go; 

Thou  hast  sweeter  draughts  above; 
There  the  mass  of  human  woe, 

Is  dissolved  in  streams  of  love. 

Child!  it  is  a  blest  exchange; 

Why  should  thy  fond  parents  weep? 
In  eternal  pleasures  range; 

Bid  their  fruitless  sorrows  sleep. 

Mother!  check  thy  falling  tear; 

To  thy  God  thy  babe  resign; 
Death  can  never  reach  it  there, — 

Let  its  God  through  life  be  thine. 

Father!  see,  thy  infant  now 

Sings  before  the  sparkling  throne; 

Youth  forever  decks  its  brow; 
Amen;— let  God's  will  be  done! 


236  REFLECTIONS. 

Yes — we  yield  thee  to  the  grave; 

Grave!  retain  thy  sacred  trust; 
Jesus  mighty  is  to  save: 

He  shall  animate  thy  dust. 

Hark! — It  is  the  trumpet's  sound! 

Jesus  bids  our  dust  to  fly; 
"Rise,  ye  tenants  under  ground; 

Live — and  live  no  more  to  die!" 


REFLECTIONS 

On  the  death  of  Mr.  GEORGE  W.  SHUTT,  of  Shepherdstovvn,  who 
departed  this  life  December  25th,  1835. 

WHAT  sad  reflections  now  my  mind  steal  o'er! 

My  soul  with  mournful  thought  it  fills  of  time 

The  last,  on  which  my  friend  in  yonder  house, 

To  worship  with  his  usual  warmth  was  seen. 

It  was  a  moment  sacred  to  God,  sons, 

When  they  in  union  mingled  sweet,  and  told 

To  friends  surrounding  them,  their  fears  and  hopes, — 

Their  prospects  of  a  better  world  than  this, 

More  during  far,  where  sorrows  never  come. 

It  was  a  hallow'd  hour  with  my  friend! 

He  spoke:—  "  'Tis  probably  the  latest  time 

"That  I  my  gospel-hopes,  in  God's  own  house, 

May  have  a  chance  to  express: — how  bright 

Are  they!  and  I  am  blest  with  peace  serene, 

As  calm  as  summer's  eve  that  shuts  the  rose: — 

My  days  devote  to  God  shall  be,  or  few, 

Or  many,  if  long  life  to  me  he  dole." 


REFLECTIONS.  237 

No  more  he  said;  but  with  that  modesty, 

That  Christian  grace,  peculiar  to  himself, 

Retired  to  his  seat;  while  holy  joy 

The  house  illuminated  all,  and  shed 

A  genial  warmth  through  ev'ry  Christian's  breast. 

I  look'd  upon  his  blooming  cheeks, — the  rose 

Its  ruddy  beauties  all  had  planted  there: 

His  fine  and  flashing  eye  shone  full  of  life: 

I  inly  breathed  the  prayer — "Long  may'st  thou  live!" 

That  prayer  was  heard! — He  is  immortal  now! 

But,  O!  how  changed  is  all  the  living  man! 

The  ruddy  hue  his  cheeks  has  left;  his  eye 

With  living  fire  that  flashed  is  closed, 

And  cold,  damp  chills  of  death  sit  on  his  brow. 

In  yonder  lonely  grave-yard  now  he  lies, 

Close  in  a  narrow  coffin  pent  his  manly  limbs! 

Methinks  I  sometimes  hear  him  speak,— I  look, — 

He  is  not  there!  I  missed  him  in  the  house 

Devote  to  prayer  and  solemn  hymns  of  praise; 

But  now  I  miss  him  more!  for  who  shall  lead 

The  high-toned  choral  hymn  with  equal  skill? 

I  hear  his  song  no  more; — 'tis  hush'd  in  death! 

My  valued  friend  I  long'd  to  see,  before 

The  clammy  sweat  of  death  his  hue  had  changed! 

But  'twas  a  priv'leg'd  sight — to  few  allow'd! 

Physicians  had  an  interdiction  laid; 

More  cruel  they  than  death,  who  makes,  at  once, 

An  end  to  human  sufferings  below: 

But  since  my  friend  is  happy,  I  am  blest! 

I  only  wait  the  time  that  lays  my  head, 

Weary  and  faint  with  all  life's  ills,  the  sod 

Beneath,  in  yonder  cemetery  crown'd 
21 


238  REFLECTIONS* 

With  stones  of  rudest  shape,  or  marble  slabs, 

Polish'd  arid  letter'd  by  the  artist's  skill. 

Who  these  plain,  unembellish'd  lines  shall  see 

Little  care  I,  could  I  but  justice  do 

For  him  whose  character  I  fain  would  draw: — 

He  had  a  soul  of  no  mean,  common  mould; 

Disinterested,  gen'rous,  and  sincere; — 

A  Methodist  of  Nature's  finest  stamp; — 

A  Christian  in  the  house  of  God  and  out; — 

(And,  thank  God,  some  there  are  in  ev'ry  church, 

Who  carry  their  credentials  as  they  go;) 

In  walk  consistent — conversation  too — 

A  moving  lamp  of  life  to  all  around, 

Who  seem'd  to  say  by  his  example  good, 

"Follow  thou  me: — no  doubtful  track  I  tread: 

My  Savior  walk'd  this  very  path  before!" 

But,  'tis  enough!  praise  can't  affect  him  now; 

And  out  of  censure's  reach  he  ever  sits. 

That  over-sgueamishness  I  hate,  that  holds 

From  those  due  praise  who  in  their  Savior  die, 

Since  all  the  glory  we  to  God  ascribe. 

'Twas  grace  that  made  my  friend  a  shining  light; 

'Twas  grace  his  heart  subdued,  and  led  his  way 

To  scenes  more  bright  and  joys  above  the  sky. 

There  shall  our  favor'd  friend  in  triumph  sit, 

And  there  with  pleasure,  tell  his  conquests  o'er. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  Tree  of  Life,  shall  he 

His  weary  and  once  dying  head  recline; 

Or  pluck  those  sweet  ambrosial  fruits,  that  hang 

In  richest  clusters  on  the  heav'nly  vine, 

Where  sin,  and  pain,  and  death  can  never  come. 

My  friend,  farewell!  thy  Savior  call'd  thee  home, 


THE    SABBATH.  239 

Too  soon,  alas!  for  our  fond  hearts;  but  we 
Resign  to  his  most  holy  will  our  dearest  ties. 
Thy  grace  for  all  can  make  amends,  and  wipe 
The  gushing  tear  bedewing  every  face. 
Again,  I  say,  adieu!  The  mould'ring  tombs,  ere  long, 
By  Gabriel's  voice,  and  earthquakes,  rent,  their  dead 
So  numerous  shall  yield;  their  iron  sleep 
Shall  broken  be,  and  death  give  up  his  prey: 
Then  from  the  dust  my  friend  shall  wake  and  sing 
Eternal  hallelujahs  to  the  Lamb. 


THE  SABBATH. 

IN  the  bleak  winter  of  the  longest  life, 
When  man  no  more  is  with  his  God  at  strife; 
When  he  surveys  his  restless  wand'rings  o'er, 
Looks  back — then  forward — to  that  untried  shore, 
The  Sabbath  is  his  shortest,  pleasant  day, 
And  O,  too  soon  for  him  it  flits  away; — 
It  seems  a  foretaste  of  long  spring  to  come; 
That  shelt'ring  port — his  everlasting  home. 

To  ev'ry  new-born  soul  the  Sabbath  morn, 

Seems  like  the  first  that  did  our  world  adorn; 

Time  is  an  angel  lately  from  the  skies, 

His  pinions  shedding  fragrance  as  he  flies, 

And  Time's  bright  hour-glass  running  sands  of  gold; 

For  God  in  all  his  mental  eyes  behold; 

And  each  succeeding  object  of  his  sight, 

Fills  him  with  true  emotions  of  delight. 


240  FIRST    DAY    OF    THE    WEEK. 

A  God  of  goodness  ev'ry  where  he  sees; 
His  beauty  blooms  in  men,  herbs,  plants,  and  trees; 
While  yon  bright  orb  his  golden  radiance  flings 
Across  his  path,  and  speaks  the  God  he  sings. 
Now  objects  overlook'd  on  other  days, 
Arrest  his  eye  and  give  him  cause  for  praise; 
Now  on  their  face  he  looks,  he  loves  to  dwell, 
And  O!  his  gratitude,  what  tongue  can  tell! 

When  silence  reigns  among  the  works  of  men, 
The  works  of  God  have  leave  to  praise  him  then 
With  louder  voice,  in  earth,  and  air,  and  sea, — 
It  seems  as  if  the  world  kept  jubilee. 
The  vital  spirit  of  the  Living  One 
Pervades  all  nature,  as  the  wide-spread  sun; 
And  breathing  round  the  gentle  air  of  heaven, 
Sheds  o'er  one  day  the  halcyon  calm  of  sev'n! 

Sight  is  not  needed  now  to  bring  Him  near; 

Faith  does  the  work,  and  says — "Thy  God  is  here!" 

The  soul  is  struck  by  an  admiring  awe, 

And  he  cries  out — "O,  how  I  love  thy  law!" 

Thus  while  in  God's  own  house  faith's  quick'ning  pow'r 

Sheds  brighter  glory  on  the  sacred  hour; 

And  on  God's  holy  day  the  air  of  heav'n, 

Breathes  o'er  the  soul  the  hallow'd  charm  of  sev'n. 


FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  WEEK. 

WHO  scorn  thee,  Holy  Day,  set  heaven  at  nought, 
And  push  eternity  from  human  thought; 
Heav'n  would  wear  out,  whom  one  short  day  would  tire* 
Nor  could  its  joys  one  transient  bliss  inspire; 


241 


Emblem  and  earnest  of  eternal  rest, 
A  festival  with  fruits  celestial  blest; — 
A  jubilee  that  frees  th«  mind  from  earth, 
When  saints  recur  to  their  supernal  birth. 

It  gives  new  vigor  to  the  languid  mind, 
And  peace  and  solid  joy  around  we  find; 
The  pulse  for  immortality  beats  high, 
And  Christians  dwell,  like  Uriel,  in  the  sky. 
The  wandering  foot  the  Sabbath  will  restore, 
The  weak  it  strengthens,  and  they  fall  no  more; 
The  ling'ring  pace,  it  quickens — prone  to  slip, 
It  keeps,  and  holds  heaven's  nectar  to  their  lip. 

It  lifts  the  sinking  feet  from  miry  clay, 
And  sets  them  in  a  safe  and  pleasant  way, 
Establishes  their  goings  on  a  rock, 
The  rock  that  shall  withstand  time's  latest  shock. 
The  Sabbath  cheers  the  pilgrim's  darkest  day, 
And  strews  with  flowers  divine  the  good  old  way; 
It  is  a  waymark  that  defines  his  road, 
And  leads  him  to  the  bosom  of  his  God! 


LIBERTY. 

OF  Liberty,  I  sing;  divine;  blood  bought: 
Not  that  for  which  the  hero  spends  his  life, 
And  nothing  gains,  but  sores,  and  wounds,  and  blood; 
Whose  name  with  perishable  earth  expires; 
Though  men  may  bolster  high  his  fleeting  fame, 
And  in  a  mournful  dirge  sing — "HERE  HE  LIES!" 
21* 


242  LIBERTY. 

All  liberty,  but  that  from  heaven,  is  vain; 

'Tis  transitory,  unsubstantial  all; 

And  often  as  the  morning  cloud,  retires 

Before  the  burdens  of  life's  brief  day  close: — 

Or,  if  at  best,  to  latest  day  it  reach, 

The  bubble  breaks — we  die — it  is  no  more! 

'Tis  true; — another  unsubstantial  thing, 

By  men  call'd — Fame — comes  in  its  place  to  fill: 

But  what  is  it — a  breeze,  a  blast  of  breath, — 

Rhodomontade — a  merely  empty  sound, 

Vociferated  by  the  crowd:  The  wise, 

Turn'd  fools,  the  sound  repeat,  and  give 

The  man  a  kind  of  immortality! 

Immediately  to  work  they  fall; 

A  pompous  pile,  or  funeral  bust  they  raise, 

To  speak  in  letter'd  style  his  mighty  deeds, 

And  tell  on  hist'ry's  lengthy,  golden  page 

A  thousand  things — the  good  man  never  did! 

But  'tis  connatural  with  man,  to  cherish  Jong, 

The  names  of  those  who  from  their  country  well 

Deserve. — Our  benefactors  should  be  praised, 

If  eulogy  is  well  bestow'd  who  blames? 

None  but  those  rigid  souls  who  hate  a  name, 

That  they  are  destined  ne'er  by  deeds  to  wear, 

Upon  the  undeserving  praise  bestow'd, 

Is  fulsome  as  the  jewel  in  swine's  snout! 

But  there  was  one  to  whom  belong'd  the  meed, 

And  all  the  praise  to  man  we  dare  to  give: 

But  he  is  gone;  and  nobler  tongues  than  mine 

His  fame  shall  speak. — His  monument  is  raised, 

And  high  it  stands,  in  pyramidal  form, 

And  far  above  the  city  doth  it  rear 


243 


Its  prourl  and  marble  front. — It  seems  to  say, 

"The  father  of  his  country,  Washington, 

His  val'rous  deeds  emblazon'd  high,  stands  here! 

For  Liberty  he  fought,  and  gain'd  it  too, 

If  we,  his  offspring,  basely  do  not  sell 

What  he,  and  others,  bought  at  price  so  dear!" 

This  brings  me  to  my  theme  once  more!  I  sing 

That  liberty  that  frees  my  soul,  when  held 

In  thraldom  vile  to  sinful  appetites; 

By  passions  much  debased  and  sunk  below 

The  brute  that  downward  to  the  earth  returns. 

Man's  origin  is  high; — his  grandeur  swells 

The  clouds  above,  and  kin  with  God  he  claims, 
A  transcript  of  his  own  eternity! 

.But  sin  had  crushed  him  low,  when  Christ  restored, 
And  raised  his  nature,  fallen,  to  a  height 
On  which  he  may  securely  stand,  and  bid 
Defiance  to  the  darts  of  death,  and  dare 

His  enemy  his  worst  to  do;  for  God 
His  efforts  baffles,  and  the  serpent  goes 
With  disappointed  hopes  to  his  own  place. 

Jesus,  for  man  obtain'd  the  precious  boon; 

The  gift  of  life  and  liberty  untold. 

To  say,  "I'M  FREE;" — is  sa)Ting  much;  but,  O! 

To  feel  our  nature  changed,  and  vile  desire 

Curb'd,  brought  in  proper  bounds,  and  slain,  no  more 

To  rise,  is  heaven's  greatest  blessing  far! 

My  nature,  prone  to  evil,  is  subdued; 

To  God  my  warm  affection?  purely  rise; 

As  pure  as  gales  from  Edon's  peaceful  grounds, 

Ere  father  Adam  broke  his  Maker's  laws! 
O,  what  a  privilege  is  this!     How  free 

Are  they  who  breathe  this  sweet  and  healthful  air? 


244  LIBERTY. 

The  soul  holds  converse  with  its  God,  and  dwells, 

Like  Uriel,  in  the  skies — his  house  above; 

Though,  for  awhile,  to  one  of  clay  confin'd. 

O  this  is  liberty  divine  indeed! 

This  liberty  exalts,  refines  the  soul, — 

And  fit  it  makes  it  for  superior  bliss, 

Where  Death  is  swallowed  up  of  endless  life! 

Give  me,  while  'mid  the  busy  crowd  of  men, 

The  bustle  and  the  noise  of  this  vain  world, 

The  liberty  my  minstrel  now  would  sing, 

I'd  hug  it  to  my  breast  and  say,  "Vain  world! 

My  God  is  mine,  and  I  am  His!  my  joys 

Surpass  the  transient  bliss  of  those  whose  heads 

Are  studded  with  earth's  richest  diadems!" 

This  Liberty  ray  theme  shall  be: — 

I'm  walking  through  linmanuel's  land, — its  length 

And  breadth  I  now,  through  faith,  survey; 

The  city  of  my  God  I  see- -Her  palaces, 

Her  bulwarks,  and  her  tow'rs  around  I  trace. 

This  is  the  privilege  of  all  by  faith  who  walk; 

She  lends  her  optics  to  the  weak;  her  sight 

Is  strong,  and  pierces  far  beyond  this  gloom. 

She  looks  out  o'er  the  narrow  frith 

Of  life,  and  sees  in  endless  prospects  rise 

Ten  thousand  new  enjoyments. — 'Tis  a  seat 

Of  calm  repose  and  everlasting  rest. 

But  now  at  distance  from  my  home  I  am; 

An  exile  still; — far  from  my  father's  house. 
Soon  will  he  say — "It  is  enough!  come  up! 
Thy  life  and  labors  close  at  once;  thy  toils 
Are  o'er;  and  all  thy  trials  have  an  end!" 
When  I  shall  hear  those  welcome  words— Adieu, 
My  friends;  my  brethren  in  the  Lord  farewell! 


LIBERTY.  243 

My  Lord  has  made  me  free  indeed!     My  sun 

No  more  in  sorrow's  doubtful  gloom  shall  set; 

But  flings  its  bright'ning  radiance  through  the  skies. 

To  other  worlds  I  speed  my  upward  flight. 

See,  I  am  out  of  sight;  but  still  I  rise 

On  pinions  which  for  me  my  Savior  bought. 

I'm  higher  still; — beyond  the  milky  way; — 

Beyond  where  Georgium  Sidus  rolls  his  car, 

And  wheels  his  flight  through  more  than  fourscore  years. 

Hail,  hallelujah!  I  am  scarce  on  God's 

Amazing  broad  frontier!  but  onward  still 

I  go  to  higher  skies  and  purer  air, 

Where  only  spotless,  happy  spirits  dwell! 

I'm  free! — I'm  rising  still! — at  length  I  see 

The  holy  city  rise  to  view! — my  spirit's  fill'd 

With  strange  delight  and  extacies  unknown. 

Up  to  those  pearly  gates  I  dare  not  go, 

Were  not  ray  Savior  there;  His  smiles  create 

Fresh  confidence,  and  I  my  King  approach! 

'Tis  well  I  am  immortal,  otherwise 

The  sight  my  spirit  would  dissolve;  and  crush 

A  tenement  of  dust  and  make  me  nought! 

But  Thou,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  mine, 

Hast  made  me  thine,  by  deathless,  changeless  ties, 

And  I,  a  weak,  and  helploss  worm  shall  live; 

Live  One  with  Thee,  my  God!  and  swell  the  hymn, 

The  choral  hymn  of  heaven,  to  him  who  wash'd 

Us  in  His  blood,  and  made  us  kings  and  priests 

To  Thee;  and  pillars  in  Thy  heavenly  dome, 

Whence  we  no  more  shall  rove — forever  bless'd. 

O!  this  is  liberty  for  which  'tis  bliss  to  die; — 

I  ask  no  more — God's  presence  is  enough! 


246 


ALL  HAIL  TO  COLUMBIA. 

ALL  hail  to  Columbia! — the  land  that  we  tread, 
The  tomb  of  the  great,  the  illustrious  dead; — 
The  spirits  that  ruled  and  presided  in  war, 
Directed  our  counsels  and  roll'd  Freedom's  car: 
The  truest  of  hearts  that  have  ever  yet  bled, 
A  halo  of  honors  encircle  their  head; 
They  sleep  in  their  glory — an  undaunted  host, — " 
The  pride  of  their  children— their  country's  high  boast! 

All  hail  to  Columbia!  No  slave  shall  walk  here; 
Our  feet  are  unchained  and  as  free — as  the  air; 
And  long  shall  the  billows  of  yonder  broad  sea, 
Re-echo  in  thunder — "Columbia's  free!" 
"Our  Fathers"  came  over  the  face  of  the  deep, 
To  seek  for  a  home  where  in  peace  they  might  sleep: 
They  left  far  behind  them  the  cowardly  slave, 
Resolved  not  to  welter  in  their  living  grave! 

All  hail  to  Columbia!  "Our  Fathers"  were  just; 
And  meaner  than  they  rnusl  have  sunk  to  the  dust; 
But  dauntless  and  cheerful,  toils  sternly  they  bore, 
And  what  depress'd  vassals,  impell'd  them  to  soar! 
They  dared  to  face  danger  in  every  form, 
And  met,  without  murm'ring,  the  heart  of  the  storm; 
For  freedom  they  fought — and  for  freedom  they  die; 
And  now  in  its  hot-bed  their  relics  shall  lie! 

All  hail  to  Columbia!  On  Bunker-hill's  height, 
"Our  Fathers"  engaged  with  the  lion  in  fight; 


COLUMBIA.  247 

But  firm  as  the  pillars  of  heaven  they  stood, 

And  wrote  our  dear  rights  with  the  streams  of  their  blood! 

The  lion  was  wounded,  and  shaking  his  mane, 

He  measured  his  steps  to  his  lair  back  again; 

Forever  remember'd  be  th'  auspicious  day, 

When  blood  from  our  foe  wash'd  his  footsteps  away! 

All  hail  to  Columbia!  the  land  of  my  birth, 
The  fairest  and  best  brightest  spot  on  the  earth; 
In  vain  shall  we  search  for  a  land  like  to  thee, 
The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  port  of  the  free! 
Here  Liberty  raises  her  glorious  crest, 
And  th'  Eagle  will  shelter  the  young  of  her  nest; 
Here  learning  and  science  their  standard  shall  rear, 
And  arts  and  religion  shall  both  triumph  here. 

All  hail  to  Columbia!   The  unshaken  rock; 

Thou  firmly  hast  stood  'gainst  the  tyrant's  rude  shock; 

And  shall  I  forget  thee,  my  country? — O  no! 

No — never  so  long  as  my  life-blood  shall  flow! 

The  wreathes  of  fair  freedom  thy  brow  shall  entwine; 

And  we  will  repose  in  the  shade  of  thy  vine: 

Thy  hand  shall  be  ready  to  aid  the  oppressed, 

And  in  thy  soft  bosom  the  exile  shall  rest. 

All  hail  to  Columbia!     Though  tyrants  should  pour 
Their  mischievous  vengeance  against  our  firm  shore, 
And  navies  flock  round  us  as  ducks  to  the  pool, 
The  peals  of  our  rannon  shall  be  their  best  school! 
Our  cause  still  shall  prosper;  for  heaven  is  just; 
In  Him  we  rely  with  an  unshaken  trust; 
Our  shield  and  our  buckler,  our  tower  he'll  be, 
At  home  and  abroad,  on  the  land,  and  on  sea! 


248  LINES. 

All  hail  to  Columbia!     "Our  fathers"  are  dead; 

A  halo  of  glory  encircles  their  bed; 

The  structure  they  rear'd  shall  their  deeds  best  proclaim, 

Ths  unfading  memorial  of  Time's  highest  fame! 

Thy  children  shall  copy  the  deeds  of  the  sire, 

And  virtue  and  valor  their  bosoms  inspire; 

Thus  long  shall  thy  sons  and  thy  daughters  enjoy 

Those  blessings  that  none  but  themselves  can  destroy! 


Composed  at  the  request  of  a  little  girl  five  years  of  age. 

ETERNAL  Father!  heavenly  king, 
Aid  thou  mine  infant  lips  to  sing; 
Teach  me  to  lisp  thy  sacred  name, 
And  let  my  life  thy  praise  proclaim. 
Make  me  as  thou,  my  Savior  art, 
And  live  thyself  within  my  heart; 
May  I  more  wise,  and  pious  grow, 
And  serve  Thee  fully  here  below. 
But  as  I  grow  to  riper  age, 
Do  thou  my  wand'ring  thoughts  engage;. 
Protect  me  from  each  hidden  snare, 
And  may  I  find  thee  always  near. 
When  that  important  hour  draws  nigh, 
That  I  must  yield  my  breath — and  die! 
O  may  the  comforts  of  thy  word, 
A  balm  to  me  in  death  afford. 
Then  shall  I  gently  sink  to  rest, 
As  yonder  orb  sinks  in  the  west; 
But  rise  with  more  resplendant  light, 
To  shine  in  God's  own  image  bright. 


249 

LEVIS.* 

-  « 

A    REAL    CHARACTER. 

Now  Levis  was  a  citizen 

Of  known  and  good  repute; 
He  thought  himself  a  gentleman, 

And  wore  a  handsome  suit. 
As  self-important  as  the  fowl, 

That  struts  by  yonder  hen, 
So  Levis  walk'd  and  dash'd  about 

Among  his  fellow  men. 

As  any  man  along  the  vale, 

He  wore  a  fine  cravat; 
And  when  he  went  abroad  he  wore 

A  laroje  three -corner'd  hat. 

His  horses  all  were  very  fine, 

And  of  a  noble  breed; 
And  when  but  fairly  mounted,  he 

Went  with  a  death-like  speed. 

Or  if  at  leisure  he  did  go, 
He  spread  his  feet  full  wide; 

And  as  he  rode  survey'd  himself, 
And  look'd  from  side  to  side, 

He  had  a  tongue  that  never  tired, 
But  still  was  full  of  glee; 

And  in  the  neighborhood  around, 
No  man  so  rich  as  he. 

*Tlie  Latin  word  for  light. 
22 


250 


His  hounds  and  horses  were  in  trim, 

As  ev'ry  body  knows; 
The  former  knew  a  bugle  well 

As  any  horn  that  blows. 

If  Levis  could  but  be  with  these, 

And  chase  the  fox  to  death, 
He  then  was  in  his  element, 

And  drew  his  proper  breath. 

The  wild  cats  on  the  distant  hills, 

Knew  Levis,  far  and  nigh; 
And  when  they  heard  his  bugle-horn, 

Would  to  their  coverts  fly. 

But  now  and  then  he  would  nab  one, 

In  spite  of  all  their  skill; 
And  "Tally-ho"  would  echo  round, 

To  ev'ry  distant  hill. 

Now  this  good  man  possess'd  a  shop, 

And  merchandize  he  sold, 
And  from  the  miser's  purse,  he  drew 

A  pretty  heap  of  gold. 

The  country  clown  was  too,  induced, 
With  him  to  spend  his  pence; 

And  then — would  curse  his  stars,  to  find 
He  had  no  better  sense. 

But  Levis  still  would  cry  out — "Cheap, 

And  elegant,  and  new; 
Besides  it  is  so  good  for  wear, 

And  very  handsome  too." 


251 


But  notwithstanding  he  made  much 

Yet  daily  he  spent  mere; 
Till  from  a  merchant  he  became 

Intolerably  poor. 

But  having  a  grand  pack  of  hounds, 

He  follow'd  up  his  game; 
Till  for  a  "mighty  hunter*'  he 

Extended  far  his  name. 

The  profits  of  his  skins  and  furs, 

By  private  auction  sold, 
Increas'd  his  means  until  he  found, 

Once  more  a  lump  of  gold. 

He  purchas'd  then  a  little  farm, 
And  well  he  till'd  the  ground, 

And  for  a  quite  industrious  man, 
Was  known  to  all  around. 

But  what  was  better  far  than  all, 

He  married  a  rich  wife; 
Affectionate  as  she  was  rich, 

But  short  indeed  her  life. 

For  death  came  on  with  rav'nous  speed, 

And  bore  his  wife  away; 
But — he  was  rich! — for  in  his  hands, 

His  wife's  possessions  lay. 

Yet,  very  soon,  he  changed  his  state; 

He  took  a  wife  again, 
Who  never  sunder'd  from  his  arms, 

Till  death  destroy'd  the  chain: 


252  STANZAS, 

For  while  he  dream'd  of  hounds  and  hares' 
And  chas'd  the  fox  to  death, 

Along-  came  hunter,  Death,  one  day, 
And  robb'd  him  of  his  breath. 

His  goods  were  scatter'd  far  and  wide, 

Among  his  greedy  heirs; 
And  while  they  scrambled  for  their  part, 

The  worms  made  sure  of  theirs? 

But  what  became  of  this  man's  soul, 

Is  quite  another  thing; 
Perhaps  the  devil — laid  his  claim — 

Or  took  it — on  the  wing! 

However  this  great  matter  be', 

'His  body's  now  at  rest; 
And  loads  of  monumental  clay, 

Are  heap'd  upon  his  breast. 


STANZAS. 

Written  on  the  brilliant  and  glorious  victory  of  General   Andrew 
Jackson  over  the  British  at  New  Orleans,  January,  1815. 

- 
To  Thee,  great  Lord  of  all  above, 

Ruler  supreme  o'er  earth  and  sea; 
We  fall  before  Thy  throne  of  love, 

And  pay  our  homage  unto  Thee. 
We  know  'twas  thy  Almighty  pow'r 

First  spoke  our  nation  into  name; 
And  every  day,  and  every  hour. 

Thy  matchless  goodness  doth  proclaim. 


253 


What  we  ourselves  cannot  effect, 

Thine  own  Almighty  arm  shall  do; 
Thou  wilt  all  haughty  kings  reject, 

But  bear  republics  conqu'rors  through. 
When  Britons,  filled  with  pride  and  rage, 

Marched  through  our  capitol  in  haste, 
And  naught  could  their  vain  hopes  assuage, 

Of  laying  Baltimore  quite  waste; 

Thou  didst  reveal  Thy  glorious  arm, 

And  by  our  cannon's  thund'ring  roar, 
Didst  save  its  citizens  from  harm, 

And  drove  them  from  our  happy  shore. 
But  still  intent — on  mischief  bound — 

They  sailed  round  to  the  New  Orleans, 
And  came  upon  our  peaceful  ground, 

To  wrest  from  us  our  sugar  canes! 

Instead  of  sugar — ah!  they  found 

Hot  Coffee,  mortal  to  their  taste, 
So  that  at  length  they  left  the  ground, 

And  all  their  hopes  were  nign  laid  waste. 
Then  JACKSON,  our  great  general, 

Empower'd  by  Almighty  skill, 
Let  loose  his  arms  both  great  and  small, 

And  did  some  thousands  of  them  kill! 

They  could  not  even  pierce  the  walls 
Of  cotton^pack'd  in  solid  bales, — 

So  Packenham  their  gen'ral  falls, 
'And  every  British  effort  fails! 

And  should  they  yet  attempt  our  land, 
We  will  again  their  cotton  try; 

And  pray  the  Lord  will  lend  His  hand, 
And  be  our  helper  ever  nigh! 

Thine  is  the  victory,  O  Lord! 

But  JACKSON  is  thy  instrument; 
We  thank  thee  for  his  conqu'ring  sword, 

And  ev'ry  blessing  thou  hast  sent. 
Now  if  the  British  come  again, 

With  reinforcements  to  our  shore; 
May  they  submit — or  else  be  slain — 

Or  driven  to  return  no  more. 


254  THE  OLD  MAN'S  MARRIAGE. 

Thus  shall  our  land  have  peace  and  rest, 

And  we  will  own  thy  gracious  hand: 
So  shalt  Thou  stand  alone  confest, 

The  glorious  bulwark  of  our  land. 
Thus  arts  and  sciences  shall  rise, 

And  commerce  lift  her  drooping  head, 
And  all  the  blessings  of  the  skies, 

Their  grateful  odors  round  us  shed. 

Religion  too  shall  rear  her  fane, 
In  splendor  through  America; 
And  God's  own  Son  himself  shall  reign 

In  all  the  charms  of  Gospel-day! 
Hallelujah!  for  the  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth! 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  MARRIAGE,  AND  HIS  WIFE 
CURED  OF  SCOLDING. 

Founded  on  fact. 

THERE  was  an  old  man  in  the  West, 
Poor  silly  soul!  he  could  not  rest, 
Till  he  obtained  a  sweet  young  wife, 
To  soothe  the  sorrows  of  his  life. 
From  morn  till  eve  her  tongue  would  run; 
For  maids  and  servants  'twas  fine  fun; 
But  to  her  husband,  good  old  soul! 
Her  voice  did  like  piano  roll. 
He  thought  her  beautiful  and  fair, 
So  prettily  she  comb'd  his  hair; 
But  to  the  good  old  man's  surprize, 
It  made  him  open  both  his  eyes. 
And  thus  her  tongue  began  to  play;— 
"You  scorch  your  shins  the  live-long  day; 
Had  I  but  married  some  young  sot, 
Far  better  would  have  been  my  lot. 
Just  like  a  hen  tied  by  the  leg, 
You  will  not  move  yourself  a  peg; 
A  man  carved  from  a  block  would  do, 
To  ev'ry  purpose  good  as  you! 


THE    OLD   MAN'S    MARRIAGE.  255 

And  when  I  do  retire  at  night, 

I  turn  and  turn  till  morning's  light, 

Your  flesh  is  cold  as  Erie  ice; 

A  man  should  not  get  married  twice!" 

The  old  man  listen'd  to  her  lay, 

And  scarcely  knew  what  he  should  say; 

At  length,  just  as  the  torrent  pours, 

The  old  man  broke  and  thus  he  roars: 

"What  you  have  spoken  is  too  true; 

I  was  a  fool  to  marry  you, 

Or  take  an  ingrate  to  rny  bed, 

Who  would  not  care  if  I  was  dead! 

But  still  I  have  the  ready  cash, 

And,  though  I'm  old,  can  cut  a  dash, 

I'll  go  and  hire  some  old  shrew, 

Who  has  a  tongue  to  match  with  you! 

But  since  you  think  I  am  too  old, 

Lie  by  yourself  and  keep  from  cold; 

I  would  not  wish  to  break  your  rest; — 

So  now  determine  what  is  best!" 

All  dress'd  in  his  late  wedding  suit, 

The  old  man  now  drew  on  his  boot; 

"I  find,  said  he,  'tis  hard  to  part; — 

But  this  young  creature  breaks  my  heart! 

To  my  attorney  I  will  go; 

For  matters  never  shall  rest  so; 

I'll  alter  my  too  hasty  will; 

I'll  keep  my  riches  with  me  still! 

She  shall  not  have  one  single  sous, 

Of  any  thing  about  my  house; — 

For  at  the  first  she  was  but  poor, 

And  at  my  death  she'll  be  no  more!" 

As  one  may  very  well  expect, 

This  lecture  had  a  ^ood  effect; 

It  changed  the  conduct  of  his  wife, 

So  that  they  led  a  peaceful  life! 

For  when  the  old  man  fain  would  start, 

She  cried,  "Oh  no!  'twill  break  my  heart; 

Besides,  you  now  are  growing  old; 

Indeed  you  cannot  stand  the  cold. 

I  do  insist  you  shall  not  go; 

How  could  my  husband  serve  me  so? 


256  THE  OLD  MAN'S  MARRIAGE. 

I  know  I  scolded,  that  is  truth;— r 
But  you'll  forgive  a  trick  of  youth!55 
"It  will  not  do,  said  the  old  man, 
I  bear  as  much  as  any  can; 
.  .   I  am  resoly'd,*!  -will  be  off; — 
<•  YJou5\Je*'  u*s5*d  me  bad— it  is  too- tough!55 
"O  no!  O  no!  O  no!  said  she;  ' 
Do  stay  and  take  a  cup  of  tea; 
You5re  going  out  to  face  the  storm; 
A  cup  of  tea  will  make  you  warm!'5 
She  now  put  on  so  sweet  a  smile, 
And  looked  so  clever  all  the  while; 
The  old  man  lower'd  in  his  tone; — 
"Good  woman,  do  let  me  alone! 
You  are  a  strange  young  thing,  said  he; 
Pray  tell  me  what  you  want  with  me? 
You  overcome  me  by  your  chat; 
You  first  talk  this  way,  and  then  that!55 
"O  no,  said  she,— we  cannot  part; 
The  very  thought  would  break  my  heart;55 
Herself  then  in  his  arms  she  threw, — 
"Treat  one  so  bad,  that  so  loves  you?55 
She  laid  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
And  gave  him  kisses  by  the  peck! 
It  melted  the  old  man5s  hard  heart  down, 
And  next  day  both  rode  off  to  town! 
She  washes  now  the  old  man5s  feet; 
And  all  about  the  house  looks  neat; 
The  old  man  cheerfully  retires, 
And  smiles  array  his  morning  fires. 
Their  quarrel  is  long  since  forgot; 
And  happy  is  the  old  man's  lot; 
And  when,  some  years  ago,  he  died, 
She  got  his  farms  and  all  beside. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

REC'D  LD 

FEB  22'68  -HW 

• 

